Warbirds
by Moon1
Summary: Comicverse, Marvel crossover. Old soliders wants to chat with Hawk about the Jugglers. Will he refuse the deal he's been offered? Work in progress, so ANY reviews VERY much valued. Love it, hate it, think I oughta be shot or keep going...ANYTHING.
1. Eagle

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, and if there are any others, I still don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
  
  
WARBIRDS  
  
By moon  
  
  
  
Steve handed his ID to the airport MP, who scrutinized it carefully before returning it. They both fired off quick salutes to each other. Then Steve was free to bolt down the hall until he reached Gate 14.  
  
He let out a puff of relief. Made it just in time.  
  
From his back pocket he pulled out the black beret that had recently become standard wear for the Army. He tugged it over the 'proper' haircut he received just prior to his drive to the airport.  
  
He had always hated that haircut.  
  
But too much was riding on this meeting, so he had to look the part.  
  
With that in mind, Steve straightened his immaculate Private uniform and checked his gleaming regulation-laced black boots one last time.  
  
The airline employees opened the boarding doors.  
  
He fell into parade rest just in time.  
  
Disembarking first was not one, but two huge imposing men, very much of a similar type with Steve himself. Long limbed, solidly built, alert for trouble and moving with the sure grace of men who could more than handle trouble, as their scarred knuckles attested to. They were even both blonds, though the older man was surprisingly only a few shades shy of platinum, a color Steve thought reserved only for childhood or from a bottle.  
  
Steve wasn't even going to ask if it was natural. This wasn't a suicide mission.  
  
Like Steve, the older man wore Army dress greens. But where Steve's uniform was a virtual blank canvas of stiff green cloth, the other man's uniform was a glittering testament of his long service to their country.  
  
Holding pride of place on each shoulder were three meticulously polished brass stars.  
  
"General Abernathy, sir," Steve barked out, snapping to attention and smartly saluting, stiffly holding the salute in place. "Private Grant Joson reporting, sir!"  
  
The General stopped in front of him, sharp brown eyes looking him over carefully. Steve knew he didn't fool him one bit, which was fine. He didn't really expect to.  
  
What wasn't fine was the way the other man was looking at him, the younger man in the non-descript black suit. He walked like a solider, deferred to the General and guarded his back like a solider, but those hooded blue eyes…they spoke of a different profession.  
  
Fed.  
  
G-man.  
  
Spy.  
  
Spook.  
  
…  
  
Trouble.  
  
Normally, Steve had no problem with Agents. But this close to the heart of the Belt, when far too many people had far too many agendas, unknown Agents were not a welcomed factor into his current mission.  
  
In short, trouble.  
  
  
  
General Clayton Abernathy, Hawk to friends and enemies alike, hid his shock well. What in thunder was HE doing there, he asked himself, mind racing. "Private…Joson," Hawk said in a very normal voice, casually saluting the man. Best play along for the time being. "What's your assignment, solider?"  
  
The arm came down in a loud clap to his side. "To drive the General to wherever he pleases and to tender apologies on behalf of the Fort Killington Command for not providing the General with proper air transportation, sir!"  
  
All in one loud, earnest breath too. That surprised a deep chuckle from Hawk. Apparently the man didn't forget how it felt to be a Rawhide around Brass. "Well, flying first class on a commercial liner wasn't exactly torture, right Duke?"  
  
"No, sir," Duke said neutrally. "It was fine."  
  
Hawk didn't have to look back to know that Duke was bristling at the so-called Private. He couldn't blame his Second. Hawk's inspection of Killington had been in decidedly unfriendly territory. There had been something shady going on there, and Hawk didn't like the way they kept trying to separate him from Flint, Lady Jaye, Lifeline and Psyche-Out. He definitely didn't buy that BS about how their original flight plans got fouled up. The commercial plane tickets that the five were given instead appeared too quickly, placed conveniently for three separate, overbooked flights, leaving Hawk alone. The five of them had been debating what to do when Duke appeared out of no where, waving a first-class ticket seating him right next to Hawk. "Air marshal status," Duke told them. "Knew it'd come in handy."  
  
They spent the entire flight alert for trouble.  
  
And now, here was trouble all wrapped up in dress greens. Or so it must seem to Duke.  
  
Hawk deliberately caught the 'Private's gaze with his eyes, then glanced to the side to indicate Duke. A barely noticeable shake of the head. The 'Private' hadn't anticipated Duke, nor did he want him along.  
  
Coming right out of Killington, Duke was definitely not going to like that.  
  
Might as well grab the bull by the horns.  
  
"Convey my thanks to Killington, Private. Duke, looks like you're relieved of baby-sitting duty."  
  
"HUH? Hawk, what the---"  
  
"Do you have a problem with that, Duke," Hawk asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, sir," Duke said through gritted teeth. "The General shouldn't go anywhere without a guard."  
  
"I have a guard," Hawk said, nodding to the 'Private.' "I'm sure Joson here will do fine."  
  
"Hawk," Duke hissed. "May I have a word with you, sir?"  
  
"Excuse us, Private," Hawk said, nodding to the man.  
  
The two Joes walked to the other side of the gate and huddled in a corner.  
  
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Duke asked, scowling.  
  
"Always."  
  
"What the hell is going on," Duke demanded. "Killington tried their damnest to isolate you from the rest of the Joes and now you're going to just walk off with this guy who's no more a Private than I am?"  
  
Hawk smiled. "It is pretty obvious, isn't it?"  
  
"Only if you know what to look for," Duke amended. "This doesn't smell right, sir."  
  
"No, it doesn't. But I'm going to go anyways. I don't believe," Hawk said firmly, overriding a protesting Duke, "that he has anything to do with the Killington trouble."  
  
"You know how I feel about coincidence, General."  
  
"And you know I'm of a like mind. But I will tell you this with the utmost confidence; that man will not do a thing to harm me, and he'll fight by my side as ably as any Joe."  
  
Duke's brow smoothed. "I hadn't realized that you knew him, sir."  
  
"I know of him. Saw his file once. This is the first time I've actually met him."  
  
"Then…are you sure it's the right man, sir?"  
  
Hawk smiled wryly. "Stake my life on it."  
  
Duke did not smile back. "Not funny, sir."  
  
And then, for the first time, Hawk realized that Duke wasn't just worried for him.  
  
He was scared.  
  
"Duke," Hawk snapped, his face growing as fierce as the raptor he was named for. "Do you know something that I don't?"  
  
"……yes, sir…..."  
  
"Spill it, solider."  
  
"Hawk---"  
  
"NOW!"  
  
Duke reflexively snapped to attention. "Assassin, sir."  
  
Hawk stared at his Second incredulously. "Cobra?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Confirmed?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"So you didn't want to bother me."  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Well BOTHER me next time, dammit! Keeping me out of the know isn't going to protect me one bit! Did you think this old man would fall apart?"  
  
"SIR, NO, SIR!"  
  
"Then give me the courtesy of assuming that the Pentagon hasn't caused my brain to slide aft side!"  
  
Duke just looked at him, blue eyes wide. "Hawk, I would never suggest---"  
  
"Haven't you," Hawk asked pointedly.  
  
Duke fell silent, looking like a kicked dog.  
  
"Dismissed," Hawk told him curtly.  
  
"Hawk, I---"  
  
"I SAID dismissed, Joe."  
  
Very formally, Duke saluted his General, whose terse return was more of an angry gesture.  
  
Duke speared the 'Private' with a deadly warning glare, even now only thinking of Hawk's safety.  
  
The 'Private' and the General watched Duke march off in silence.  
  
"It's hard to be friends with subordinates, isn't it," the 'Private' asked softly.  
  
If he had been a real Private, Hawk would have told the man where to stick his question. But instead, Hawk answered him with the simple truth.  
  
"Yes."  
  
They didn't speak again until the car.  
  
The 'Private' opened the door to the back seat for Hawk, who unceremoniously tossed his briefcase inside before slamming the door shut out of the man's startled hands. "I can open my own damned door," Hawk growled, yanking open the shotgun door. "Get in and drive."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
More uncomfortable silence stretched between the men.  
  
The 'Private' turned on a Glenn Miller CD.  
  
Hawk promptly shut it off.  
  
It was a long drive out of the parking garage.  
  
When they pulled out of the airport, Hawk finally spoke again. "The next time you come wearing dress greens, you better come wearing your own damned rank, Captain!"  
  
The man winced. "But, sir, the truth is I never really made it past Private First Class. The rank of Captain is purely honorary."  
  
"It's still your rank and you've more than earned it."  
  
"It's just…it didn't feel right putting on bars. It felt like cheating."  
  
Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Are you making me repeat myself, solider?"  
  
The Captain smiled. "No, sir!"  
  
"Good. So. Tell me, Captain. Why is a busy man like you taxi-ing a temperamental old bird like me around? And on the sly?"  
  
"Well, one reason is that I didn't like your original driver. Killington really did send out a car. I was just going to hitch a ride with him to meet you, but, well, begging the General's pardon, I didn't think it proper for stockade scum like that to be driving you around. Lucky for us, he had an unfortunate accident with my fist."  
  
Hawk sighed. "Where is he now?"  
  
"Oh, the MPs seemed to want to talk to him and inspect his car. Something about the motor pool boys finding something funny, I'm not sure what." The Captain patted the steering wheel affectionately. "So I went out and rented this beauty, checked it top to bottom. I would have preferred getting you a SHIELD hovercar…but I think that would have been more dangerous to you in the long run than letting that driver taxi you around."  
  
"Ah. Now we come down to it," Hawk said softly.  
  
"General, this is a very dangerous game you're playing," the Captain told him soberly.  
  
"How did you find out," he asked, honestly curious.  
  
The Captain snorted. "How else? SHIELD."  
  
Hawk's head spun sharply. "How much do they know?"  
  
"Not half as much as they'd like. Not nearly as much as you." The Captain scowled fiercely. "General, I don't understand. You've got the dirt on the Jugglers. You can bring them down. Why won't you?"  
  
"Captain…" Hawk steepled his fingers to his lips. "How much do you know about the Jugglers?"  
  
"Only that they're a secret cadre of the Armed Forces' top Brass, self- interested and corrupt to the bone," the Captain spat, looking like he tasted something foul. "Which is why I'm having a hard time figuring why you're a part of them now."  
  
Hawk felt the hair on his neck rise. "Who else knows?"  
  
"That you're a Juggler? SHIELD Director Sharon Carter wanted knowledge of your membership shut under HIGHLY CLASSIFIED, so besides myself, only the Director and her inside Agent."  
  
"What's that about an Agent," Hawk demanded sharply.  
  
The Captain let out a long unhappy sigh. "You've got a SHEILD Agent in your Joes, sir. I don't know whom, Director Carter wouldn't tell me. I swear to you, that's all I know. I'd tell you if I knew more."  
  
"DAMN IT ALL," Hawk swore venomously, smashing both fists onto the dashboard. "Damn it all to Hell!" He kicked the door. "You tell that officious, high handed young lady to KEEP HER HANDS OFF MY JOES! She wants to play Spy vs. Spy, she better do it through me and not over my head or so help me I will make the Devil's own unholy Hell look like a picnic! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!"  
  
"Sir, yes, sir," the Captain barked. "You are preaching to the choir, sir!"  
  
"Did the Agent make off with copies of the evidence?"  
  
The Captain grinned broadly. "No, sir! Apparently when ordered to find your files on the Jugglers, said Agent told Director Carter to (and I quote), 'go to Hell. If the General's not using it yet or giving it out, he's got his reasons and that's good enough for me.' End quote."  
  
Hawk rubbed a hand over a mouth that threatened to break out into full- blown smile. The Captain noticed from the corner of his eye. "That's quite a testament to you, sir."  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"When a hardened SHEILD Agent places loyalty to you above the Director…that says a lot about the kind of man you are." He shook his head. "That's why I can't understand why you've joined the Jugglers instead of nailing them to the wall."  
  
Hawk regarded the driver warily. "Is that why you're here, Captain? To straight out ask for the evidence instead of trying to sneak off with it?"  
  
"Well, I do admit that Director Carter had that scenario in mind when she broke the news to me. She thought we'd be able to connect because we're so much alike. Warbirds of a feather, she called us." His grin faded. "I think what she was really banking on was me shaming you into surrendering the evidence. Give you my 'Do the right thing' speech."  
  
"And will you?"  
  
The Captain was silent for a long moment. "That would be preaching to the choir, sir. And I believe the Joe Agent has the right of it. You'll use the evidence when the time is right."  
  
The tension Hawk didn't even realize he was holding faded. "Thank you, Captain." He hesitated before admitting, "Your good opinion means a lot to me."  
  
"I think she knew that," the Captain said softly.  
  
Hawk looked out the window. "Manipulative little thing, isn't she?"  
  
"Very," the Captain agreed, that one word laced with very personal pain. Before Hawk could pry, the other man pushed the conversation back on track. "I still want to know why you joined them, General."  
  
Hawk crossed his arms with a sigh. "Do you know the legend of the Hydra, Captain? The multi-headed monster the Greek demi-god Hercules fought?"  
  
"I'm…somewhat familiar with the legend, yes," he said, amused. "Please, sir, go on."  
  
"Well, that's what I'm fighting right now, Captain. A Hydra. Yes, I could destroy the Jugglers now, but if I do that, more Brass will fill in the gaps. If that happens, I won't be in ANY position to stop them from meddling with my Joes. I'll have an army of political chaos with only a few tarnished Brass to show for it. The work we're doing is too important to let our efficiency drop. So. I'm embracing the monster, deflecting its influence instead of attacking, trying to find a way to burn the heads down to a stump so I won't have new ones popping up."  
  
The Captain digested that in silence. "This is a very dangerous game you're playing, General."  
  
"I know."  
  
"They'll be waiting for a chance to strike at you."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And even if they don't---sir, I truly don't mean any disrespect, but you know the old saying. 'Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.' And it's a disease, sir! If you surround yourself with that much corruption…it's only a matter of time…"  
  
Hawk pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes. "I am well aware of the risks, Captain. But my Joes need all the support I can give them, and I WILL give it to them. Besides," he continued in a softer voice, "my troops are my guiding stars. If I stray, they'll point the way back for me. They always have. They always will."  
  
They drove on in silence, the air heavy with thought.  
  
Hawk had almost dozed off when he heard the Captain whisper, "Sharon was wrong."  
  
"Hmm?" Hawk straightened up. "What was that?"  
  
"We're not all that similar," the Captain told him.  
  
That stung Hawk quite a bit more than he expected. "I'm sorry I don't meet with your approval," he said stiffly.  
  
"What? Oh, no, sir! You have it all wrong! What I meant was…well; I'm the type of solider that sees evil and destroys it as soon as I can reach it. That's what I was designed to do."  
  
Hawk shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't say 'design' per se. Makes you sound like a blasted robot."  
  
The Captain smiled. "Trained then. But the results are still the same. Bull in the china shop." He shook his head. "When it comes to upholding this nation's honor, I'm not a patient man. I wouldn't have the discipline to do what you're doing."  
  
"Oh, its not discipline that's holding me in check," Hawk confided in him. "It's anticipation. I look forward to the day when I can tear down the warpath and scalp their collective heads!"  
  
"Thus sayeth the Tomahawk?"  
  
"Damn straight."  
  
"Good." The Captain flashed him a grin. "I'm glad we had this chat, General."  
  
"Me too." A surprisingly shy smile came over the Joe Leader. "It's not too often I get a chance to speak to a boyhood hero."  
  
A bright blush spread over the Captain's Irish-fair cheeks. "Quit it, sir," he laughed.  
  
"I'm serious! And I'm telling you now, if you hadn't proven yourself needed elsewhere, I'd have accepted that transfer you put in a long time ago."  
  
The Captain's brows shot up. "You remember?"  
  
"'Course I do. Actually," Hawk admitted, blushing just as bad as the Captain, "I cut out your signature and had it matted and framed." He held up his hands. "'STEVEN ROGERS.' It's hanging on my office wall, under my gilt eagle. Only place to put it."  
  
"Oh NO," the Captain choked, now laughing so hard that he had to pull over into the emergency lane.  
  
"Oh yes," Hawk laughed, gasping. "The only time I didn't have the guts to write a rejection letter myself! I mean, I was denying a transfer request from CAPTAIN AMERICA! I just dumped it all in Lady Jaye's lap without telling her who you really were!" He doubled over holding his side and pounded the seat with a fist. "Oh, the flack I caught---when she found out- --!"  
  
Suddenly the driver's door yanked open. "Freeze," Duke screamed, aiming a gun right at Captain America's head. "Make a move, snake, and I'll blow your freakin' head off! General, you OK?"  
  
The Hawk and the Eagle looked at each other somberly and did the only thing two warbirds could.  
  
They dissolved into the throes of hysterical laughter, leaving Duke no choice but to step back and slam the car door shut in disgust. "A pair of turkeys, the both of them!" 


	2. Raven

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
*WARBIRDS was originally meant to be a one-shot story, but thanks to the kind feed back from ladymagna1100, LanceGirl3132, and the encouragement and inspirations from ROuge, DoomKitty, and Lurker, I've decided to see where this can lead. I've incorporated aspects of the cartoon into this story as well, where it fits.  
  
*SHIELD= Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.  
  
_________________________________________________________  
  
  
  
Hawk awoke. The adrenaline hit his blood and drove sleep away in an instant. He jerked upright, clearing the .45 hidden in his bed's headboard in one practiced motion.  
  
Nothing.  
  
His bedroom was empty.  
  
That didn't make him feel better.  
  
Something woke him.  
  
He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 0300. An hour and a half too early for Stalker, who was to swing by and pick him up for the 0500 Obstacle Course Run.  
  
Dark out. That meant Low Light would still be outside, guarding the perimeter of Hawk's new base bungalow. Duke had wanted at least one Joe with Hawk at all times until the assassin was caught. Lack of confirmation or not, Duke didn't want to take any chances. Hawk flat out did not like the idea of a guard, but relented after both Duke and Flint logically (long and loudly) pointed out that even Hawk needed to sleep sometimes. Jokingly, Hawk had pointed out that he could always sleep in a tank.  
  
No one had laughed.  
  
And now, neither did Hawk.  
  
Low Light would never have made enough noise to disturb Hawk…unless something was wrong. Hawk reached for his Joe-communications bracelet on the nightstand.  
  
It wasn't there.  
  
The hackles on the back of his neck rose as he felt around his nightstand more carefully.  
  
In place of his bracelet and regular phone was a sheet of paper, a laminated card, and the mini-Maglite he normally kept in the drawer.  
  
Someone had been in his room.  
  
That meant one way or another, Low Light had somehow been neutralized.  
  
Hawk's knuckles whitened around the grip.  
  
Silent as a cat, Hawk slipped out of bed, feeling accursedly vulnerable in barefeet and boxers. With one hand, he twisted the Maglite on and pointed it at the paper and card.  
  
  
  
ABERNATHY,  
  
I'M MAKING COFFEE. DON'T SHOOT. JUST WANT TO TALK. STEVE SAYS HI.  
  
NICK  
  
  
  
The card was an ID. Colonel Nicolas Joseph Fury, Executive Director of SHEILD.  
  
After a moment's hesitation Hawk put the Maglite between his teeth and cautiously pushed his left thumb against the SHEILD insignia.  
  
1…  
  
2…  
  
3.  
  
A small, full-bodied holographic image of Fury sprang to life above the ID picture.  
  
Genuine.  
  
He spat out the Maglite and snatched up the ID. Back rigid as a board, he threw open his door and stormed out, gun still in hand.  
  
Low Light was in Hawk's small living room, dumped on the couch, unconscious but not unmoving. He thrashed weakly, whimpering, a sound Hawk rarely heard from his night spotter. Hawk was about to check on him when the flare of a lighter in his open kitchen caught his attention.  
  
"Mornin', General," Fury rumbled from his comfortable seat at the breakfast table. He stuffed his lighter back into his trenchcoat pocket. "Ya woke up quick. Just got the coffee goin'." He took a puff on the cheap, acrid cigar. "Hope ya like a powerful brew."  
  
Hawk tossed Fury his ID and grabbed the cigar as he stomped past the older man.  
  
"HEY!"  
  
The General put both gun and cigar flat on the counter, jerked out a clever and chopped the stogie in half, sending the lit end washing down the disposal. "I've got to run with fresh bucks ten, twenty, some even thirty years younger than me in two hours," Hawk growled, tossing the rest of the cigar back at Fury. "I don't need lungs full of smoke. You want to chew on that, fine, but light it up again and this conversation is over before it's begun. Got it?"  
  
Hawk couldn't see Fury's face well, but he could practically feel the SHEILD Exec's one remaining eye try to bore a hole in him. "Ya know," the gravelly voice rasped. "I've burnt the eyes outta men who told me where I could and couldn't smoke."  
  
Hawk leaned forward. "I don't care," he hissed. He ran a dishtowel under cold water and wrung it until it was merely damp. "This is my house, and if you don't like my rules, there's the door!" With gun in one hand, and towel in the other, Hawk went back to the living room.  
  
He knelt next to Low Light, leaving his gun within easy reach on the floor. "Easy, Low Light," Hawk said, pitching his voice to a soothing rumble. He removed the sniper's night-vision goggles and knit cap, gently toweling off the man's sweating face. At first the younger man feebly tried to push him away. "It's just Hawk, Low Light. Just Hawk."  
  
"Hmph. The tranq I hit him with shoulda made him as limp as that towel. Didn't realize he got night terrors."  
  
Hawk glared at Fury angrily, but his voice remained calm. "Relax, Low Light. That's an order."  
  
And Low Light, being a good solider even in sleep, obeyed.  
  
"Nice trick," Fury commented.  
  
"No trick," Hawk told him, taking a seat across from Fury. "Trust."  
  
"Cute. By the by, fer the record, yer guard's a good one. If I weren't looking fer him, never woulda spotted him."  
  
"Low Light's the best damn night operative in the country. How the hell did you get a drop on him?"  
  
Fury grinned. "An old man's gotta have some secrets."  
  
"'Some secrets,'" Hawk snorted. "Try a lot." After a pause Hawk laid his gun down, keeping only a light touch on the grip. "Word in the Belt said you were on personal leave."  
  
"Yep. Still am. But when Carter needs ta pull out the big guns, I'm only a call away. So. Here I am, playin' Spy vs. Spy, through you. Just like ya so politely requested."  
  
"What do you want, Colonel?"  
  
Fury stretched out, taking his time. "New digs, huh?"  
  
"Yes," Hawk said warily.  
  
"Ya used ta live in that roomy two-story on the other side of base, right? Big change from that," Fury commented, waving a hand around. "I can fit the whole damn place in my apartment with room ta spare. Real humble fer a rich Pentagon boy like you."  
  
Hawk gritted his teeth. "It suits my needs."  
  
"Yeah. I'm sure it does. Tell me, General. Yer man…whazzis name…Stalker?"  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"Ya managed ta get him a real nice home fer him and his family."  
  
"He needs it. He deserves it."  
  
"Does he know ya downgraded so yer housin' budget could swing fer his place?"  
  
"He doesn't need to know. Is there a point to this, or did you by-pass security just to critique base quarters?"  
  
"Just pointin' out yer Unit's got a budget problem, General."  
  
"Thank you for that vital intel, Colonel. However is SHIELD surviving without you?"  
  
"I also noticed ya've been getting' a lot of orders from the higher ups ta cut back on manpower."  
  
Hawk clamped up and scowled.  
  
"Heard ya've been raisin' all sorts of hell over that," Fury continued mildly. "Can't blame ya. Didja also know how many officers are scramblin' ta get just one of yer Joes under their command? Its like watchin' a pimp announce an outta business sale, everthin' must go!"  
  
"Watch your mouth," Hawk growled.  
  
"Sorry," Fury said lightly. "Didn't mean ta ruffle yer feathers, but I call it like I see it. Ya know what's almost as bad? Folks on the Hill. There's an almighty fight ta see who really ends up with G.I. Joe, Department of Defense, or that new Department of Homeland Security W's been pushing."  
  
Hawk digested that quietly.  
  
"Anyone tell ya ta never play poker? Yer face's really lousy. I mean, I just met ya, it's dark, I only got one eye, and I can still tell that ya didn't know a blessed thing about the reshufflin' 'til just now."  
  
"Thank you for---"  
  
"Care fer the opinion of an old solider?"  
  
Hawk leaned back. "I'd be a fool if I didn't at least listen," he said cautiously.  
  
"Yeah, ya would be. Good ta see ya ain't. Here's my thoughts. DOD…obviously ya got a bunch of back-stabbin' sons of bitches after yer men. Friends of yers I believe…l'il club that starts with a 'J.' Be real pissed if they knew I was here."  
  
Hawk stayed silent.  
  
Fury let that go. "Stay with DOD and yer fightin' the system almost as much as yer fightin' Cobra. That ain't good. Uncle Sam needs ya ta be concentrating on the important stuff. But if ya go with DHS, since it's new, ya get ta help shape it from the inside out, ground up. Run a tight, clean ship. Only problem with that is you and yers would be mewed up within the borders mostly. That's bad. One of Joe's strengths always was mobility. Ya go where yer needed, no matter where. Won't be the case under DHS."  
  
Hawk eyed him suspiciously. "But you have a third alternative."  
  
Fury chuckled. "Ya catch on quick. That's good. Third alternative is this." Fury leaned forward, and in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "Make G.I. Joe a part of SHIELD."  
  
The General jerked up straight. "What?"  
  
"Ya heard me! Make Joe a part of SHIELD. Hell, we ain't got no budget problems. Got all the toys ya could want and yer pick of quarters! The United Nations foots the bills. It'd get ya out from under those damned two-faced J-Brass. Won't lie, still got a lotta political jockeyin' in SHIELD, but it ain't nowhere as bad. I won't stand fer it. And since we're a part of the UN, we can cut through diplomatic red tape in no time flat. That'd make Joe twice as mobile, easy. And before ya ask, no I ain't doin' this outta the kindness of my heart. Purely mercenary."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yep. See…" Fury scratched the back of his neck. "It irks me somethin' fierce ta admit this, but I ain't all that different from those other CO's. I want yer Joes. Real bad. Only I want the WHOLE unit, intact, command structure and all."  
  
"Intact?"  
  
"Intact. See, SHIELD handles every trouble ya can think of, and lots ya can't even begin ta imagine. As an Agency, we're heads and shoulders above everyone else. Thing is…when ya boil it down, we're trouble-shootin' generalist, and lately, we need specialists. The best. Specifically, the best damn anti-terrorist strike force in the world."  
  
"Namely, my Joe team," Hawk finished for him.  
  
Fury slapped the table-top. "Ya got it."  
  
The coffee began to boil.  
  
Both men ignored it.  
  
"Well," Hawk said at last. "This is…very flattering, Colonel. And it does sound like a rather neat answer to both of our many problems."  
  
Fury sighed. "I hear a 'but' comin'."  
  
"But," Hawk said obligingly, "I'm sorry. I've got to say no."  
  
"Yer doin' yer team a disservice, General. Ya ain't givin' 'em a chance ta 'be all they can be.' Yer not doin' yerself any favors either, ya know."  
  
Hawk's lips thinned. "Perhaps. But all of us Joes swore an oath of allegiance to America, first and foremost."  
  
"I made the same oaths when ya weren't even a fond thought in yer Daddy's mind," Fury told him. "I found the best way ta serve America was ta keep an eye on the whole planet. Global community and all that. Look at the bigger picture, General, and ya'll see this won't go against any oaths."  
  
"Everyone tells me to look at the bigger picture," Hawk said softly. "I have. Well. This is what I see. Its taking the concentrated efforts of the best military and federal people to ensure that Cobra isn't a threat against one country. They aren't our only problem, just one of the biggest, and we're barely keeping them in check. It's true you have everything we need: money, men, firepower, equipment, scissors for red tape…freedom to move about anywhere we need to. But you're forgetting something very important."  
  
"Oh? Didn't think I did."  
  
"Motivation, Colonel. My Joes aren't fighting for the glory, or the bragging rights to be called the best of the best."  
  
"Coulda fooled me, General."  
  
"They don't fool me, Colonel. I know my Joes, and at the heart of every one of them is the drive to protect their country. THEIR country, Colonel. Not Britain, not Japan, not Egypt or any other country you care to name. They're in this to defend their home, Fury, and woe be to anyone who tries to deny them that when they know they're needed."  
  
"I…see."  
  
"We aren't blind to the global community, Colonel. The other governments know that if they need our help, they just have to call. If we see a danger to another country out there, we'll put the word out and lend a hand. But we're an AMERICAN task force. Ask me to take that away from them, you might as well forget about the drive that makes them the best of the best. All they'll be doing then is their jobs, not their duty. So no, Colonel. Thank you, but G.I. Joe is going to stick it out with Uncle Sam."  
  
Fury chewed on his cigar thoughtfully. "Nice speech," he finally grunted. "Gotta narrow view-point, in my opinion, but nice speech. I can see why Steve's taken a shine ta ya. Warbirds. Hmph. Cute." He tossed his cigar into the sink. "Funny thing about hawks and eagles, though," he said slowly. "They're strictly meat-eaters. Sometimes, they even develop real specialized tastes like, oh, say, fer snake. Real easy fer them birds ta starve. Not big survivors."  
  
Hawk didn't like the direction this conversation suddenly turned.  
  
"Now, ravens. THERE'S a bird that'll thrive anywhere on anything. Seeds, bugs, meat, two-week old banana peels, they'll down it. In fact, unlike hawks and eagles, ravens really live it up on battlefields…flockin' and peckin' away at any poor unlucky bastards layin' around, cleanin' up other people's messes. Yep, just…PECKIN'," Fury said, making pinching motions in the air. "Getting' under the skin, right ta the bone, flyin' off with anything shiny and hoardin' it…ta use fer later. Like secrets."  
  
"Oh, for crying out loud, man, cut the analogies and just spit out what you're trying to say," Hawk snapped.  
  
"Then listen up," Fury shot back. "Yer Joes are too good ta be rottin' in red tape and cutbacks. Patriotism is all well and good, but practical matters needs ta take precedent. The Joe's are fightin' ta stay efficient, and the biggest enemy ain't Cobra! It's the Jugglers!"  
  
"So…what then? That offer was just a ruse, a way for me to give up the evidence against them?"  
  
Fury hooked his thumbs into his pockets and stared hard at Hawk. "Naw. My offer was genuine. Would have been a plus ta get that evidence, but that's moot now. Yer not gonna budge, are ya?"  
  
"No, Colonel. I'm not."  
  
"Too bad then," Fury said. "Thing about some secrets is they got a shelf life. Whatever ya got on the Jugglers ain't gonna last. They'll figure a way ta sweep it ALL under the rug. No reform, no more influence over them, General. Just material fer some geeky conspiracy theorist's newsletter no one will ever read."  
  
"I'll move before that happens."  
  
"Not sure you will," he said, biting off the end of a fresh stogie. He spat into the sink. "Yer a damn fine combat general. One of the best I've seen, and I've seen a lot. Ya've done a lot of intel and covert ops…but that ain't yer specialty. Ya might miss yer window, then where will the Joes be? Spit outta luck, that's where." Fury crossed his arms. "Just give me names, General. That's all I ask. I got names, I can find my own dirt."  
  
"If I give you names and you move too soon, I'm back to square one. No, Colonel. I've worked too long and too hard to dismantle the Jugglers to risk it. I'm sorry, but the answer again is no."  
  
"I'm sorry too," Fury said softly. "I wanted yer co-operation, 'cause I know how tight you and yer troops are." His voice hardened. "As a Department of the UN Security Council, I got the authority ta TAKE the Joes from ya."  
  
Hawk shot to his feet. "LIKE HELL YOU WILL!"  
  
"I ain't gonna let ya waste the talents of yer team and jeopardize the Free World just so you can get the glory fer bringing down the Jugglers!"  
  
The Tomahawk grabbed his gun and slammed his fist against his table. "Glory? GLORY? You think I'm doing this for some GLORY?! If I thought I could pass this responsibility off onto someone else and be with my men on the field THEN I WOULD HAVE!! Do you think I like it in the Pentagon? I HATE IT!! But my men NEED me there, so THERE I AM! And there is nothing, NOTHING, you or anyone can do to take my Joes from me. Get ready for a long campaign, Colonel, because I will fight you tooth and talon on this!"  
  
"No. You won't."  
  
"You think I'm bluffing," Hawk demanded, scowling fiercely.  
  
"No, I don't. I know yer perfectly serious," Fury said, eerily calm. "But remember what I said 'bout if I got a name, I can find my own dirt? Well, I've got dirt on the only Juggler known." Fury casually jabbed the cigar at Hawk. "You. No shelf life on it. And if ya don't want ta air yer dirty laundry, ya'll just smile and wave good-bye ta the Joes and wish 'em good luck, 'cause Heaven knows it'll kill yer vet Joes if they knew."  
  
Hawk snorted. "You're nuts. I haven't done a thing wrong and you know it!"  
  
"Two words," Fury said holding up two fingers. "Li Hueah."  
  
Hawk inhaled sharply, his chest suddenly feeling too tight. A hit and Fury knew it. "Not enough, not nearly enough," Hawk hissed. "That all you got?"  
  
Fury sighed. "Three words," he said, holding up three fingers. He hesitated. "General, ya really don't want me ta do this. Just surrender."  
  
"No."  
  
"Please."  
  
"You can't hurt me."  
  
"Three words," Fury sighed. "Viet Cong spy."  
  
Hawk frowned in honest confusion. "'Viet Cong spy?' What on Sam Hill are you---"  
  
And then it hit him.  
  
The blood drained from Hawk's face.  
  
"Aww…HELL," Fury spat. "Now ya know. Happy now?"  
  
Slowly, very slowly, Hawk shook his head. "You're wrong," he said in a low intense voice. "She sold cookies. COOKIES. Outside of Chu Lai Base. It was a family business---"  
  
"Just a cover. Li Hueah was supposed ta hit on any officer she saw in the hopes of getting' intel ta her father."  
  
"Her father stepped on a landmine," Hawk said fiercely. "He was dead before I even met her. And Hueah never hit on anyone! She was too shy. All those cookies I had to buy---"  
  
"The ol' sweet and demure act? C'mon, man, still tryin' ta fool yerself? First night with her shoulda told ya she was an experienced Saigon whore--- "  
  
The table went crashing into the wall followed by Fury. Hawk was suddenly in his face, gun muzzle digging into Fury's eyepatch. Fury cursed as he pressed his own gun against the General's ribs. "Back off, General! Don't make me shoot you!"  
  
"Call my wife a whore again, go ahead," Hawk dared in a dangerous voice.  
  
"THINK, man! Why'd ya think yer CO and Chaplain refused ta let ya get married ta her? Why'd ya think her mother was less than thrilled when ya asked permission? 'Cause they suspected she was a spy, and her mother didn't want her shackin' up with a lowly Lieutenant when Captains and Majors were around!"  
  
Hawk slammed Fury into the wall again.  
  
Fury winced. "If it makes ya feel better, all reports indicated she was a hell of a lousy spy. Good ta know ya kept yer pillow talk off sensitive subjects. But ya were still sleepin' with the enemy!"  
  
"SHE WAS MY WIFE," Hawk roared.  
  
"A ceremony held by a missionary with no witnesses or paperwork---"  
  
"We were married in the sight of God, and for the last time SHE WAS NOT A SPY!! SHE LOVED ME!"  
  
"NEVER SAID SHE DIDN'T," Fury bellowed back. "AND THAT'S WHAT KILLED HER!"  
  
Hawk whipped his gun across Fury's face. The impact knocked Fury to the floor. The spy rolled with the blow and fell on his back, gun up and ready.  
  
The General had his back to Fury, his .45 flat on the counter he was gripping tightly with both hands. "Get out," Hawk said, his voice full of suppressed rage.  
  
Cautiously, Fury rose. He reholstered his gun and began to straighten up the table and chairs. "I won't lie and say I know how ya felt, General. But I seen enough ta know what ya went through. Went totally career. That's why Joe means so much ta ya. After yer…wife and unborn---" Fury broke off when he saw Hawk's back stiffen. "Damn," he said without heat. "She didn't tell ya, did she? Naw," Fury said, answering himself. "She never got a chance. You were in the jungle fer three months, and when ya got back---"  
  
"Colonel. Just…go," Hawk whispered wearily. "Just go."  
  
Fury fished the General's Joe-com bracelet from his trenchcoat pocket and placed it gently on the center of the table. "I'll give you a week ta let Joe go with some dignity, General. Owe ya that much. After that, all bets are off. Don't ferget the coffee."  
  
Hawk said nothing.  
  
Nick Fury turned and walked away into the darkness, leaving as silently as he came.  
  
Hawk looked at the coffee with red rimmed eyes.  
  
He shot the pot and sank to the floor, pressing the hot flat metal of the gun's barrel against his forehead. "Hueah…"  
  
It was only0335. 


	3. Owl

*Disclaimer: I've incorporated aspects of the cartoon into this story as well, where it fits.  
  
I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________ __________  
  
  
  
It hurt. It hurt like hell to have heard those words. Thirty years gone now and that little slip of a girl still had the power to hurt Hawk worse than any bullet that ever tore through him.  
  
"You OK, sir," Stalker asked, throwing the General a sidelong look as he drove the jeep.  
  
"Fine," Hawk said curtly, furiously swiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Allergies."  
  
"Um…if you say so, sir."  
  
Low Light just hunkered down in the back seat and didn't say a word.  
  
After Fury had left (and Hawk had gotten a better hold of himself) the General cleared away as much evidence of Fury's visit as he could and woke the sniper. No easy feat, but with the help of cold water, pills and instant coffee, Low Light was alert by the time Stalker picked them up. With very specific instructions from Hawk.  
  
As far as Low Light was concerned, NOTHING had happened that morning. No tranq from nowhere knocking him out, no Hawk standing over him looking like hell telling him to wake up. Everything was just FINE  
  
Hawk, on the other hand, had a serious problem to deal with.  
  
Ruthlessly, Hawk shoved his personal feelings aside, ignored the hurt and told himself coldly that Hueah WAS DEAD! For the sake of GI Joe, he HAD to acknowledge the possibility that Fury had been right. His bride COULD have been a VC spy, which automatically made Hawk guilty by association.  
  
Guilty of High Treason.  
  
During a time of Military Conflict, no less.  
  
IF Fury was right, then the best Hawk could hope for was a General Court Marshal and a firing squad, with his Joes transferred to SHIELD's command…or a Juggler's.  
  
That was a thought that made him both depressed and royally pissed as hell.  
  
"Begging the General's pardon…but you've been kinda quiet," Stalker said softly.  
  
"I'M---!" Hawk bit his lip. "Sorry, Stalker," he finally sighed. "Got a lot on my mind today."  
  
"S'OK, sir," Stalker said. "Don't mean to seem like a mother hen, but we worry about you, ya know? Especially with that assassin out there."  
  
"Hmph. I might actually thank him if he put me out of my misery quick," he muttered.  
  
"Don't say that, sir," Low Light said harshly.  
  
"I agree, Hawk. Mucho not funny."  
  
Hawk sighed. "Am I the only with a sense of humor about this?"  
  
"Yes," both men replied in synch.  
  
A smile flickered across his face before dying completely.  
  
'…it'll kill yer vet Joes if they knew,' Fury had said.  
  
He might be right again.  
  
Hueah…  
  
"Hawk?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Your, uh, 'allergies'," Stalker said, tapping the corner of his eye.  
  
Hawk wiped his eyes with his thumb. "Thanks."  
  
"Almost there," Stalker told him, pulling into the dirt parking lot. He looked at the General worriedly. "You sure you're up to this, Hawk? I mean, this being your first time on the Course with the new Greenshirts, and with your…'allergies' and all that---"  
  
"Cobra's not exactly going to give me the same courtesy," Hawk snorted, grabbing his battered aviator-jacket. "Besides, I've been looking forward to this all week."  
  
Stalker swung out of the jeep and shuddered. "Now THAT'S a scary statement."  
  
Hawk stayed in his seat for a moment and just looked at his jacket. "I know," he said softly. "I should have done this a long time ago."  
  
"You're doing it now," Stalker pointed out.  
  
"I should have done it sooner," Hawk repeated, closing his eyes.  
  
Stalker shifted uncomfortably, frowning. But before he could say anything more, a whispery, autumn-dry voice spoke up from the backseat. "Hawk?"  
  
The General twisted in his seat. "Yes, Low Light?"  
  
"May I talk with you for a second?"  
  
Hawk studied his night spotter carefully. Gone was the man-child that had cringed from night terrors on his couch. Low Light was again his inscrutable self, cool and composed, his face an unreadable stony mask.  
  
Since they rarely 'just talked,' Hawk could guess why he wanted to talk now.  
  
Hawk nodded slowly. "Go on, Stalker. We'll catch up."  
  
"OK, but don't take too long. You know how cranky Beach Head gets when people show up late." Stalker turned to leave. He stopped and turned back. "Hawk?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
A brilliant smile flashed from the Joe's dark skin. "It's damned good to see you back in fatigues, man!" And with that, the Field Commander loped off down the hill.  
  
Hawk grinned and stretched.  
  
It FELT good.  
  
But he had only a week to savor it.  
  
…dammit…  
  
He shrugged into his jacket and hopped out of the jeep. "What can I do for you, solider?"  
  
Low Light slid out of the jeep. "I need---"  
  
The sniper stumbled to his knees.  
  
In an instant, Hawk was at his side, giving the sniper a hand up.  
  
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Low Light told his CO, straightening out of his grasp. "Just…got a little light headed for a second."  
  
Damned tranq, Hawk cursed mentally. "You're not fine! You can't run the Obstacle Course like this," Hawk snarled.  
  
"Like you pointed out, sir, Cobra's not going to give me any courtesies. If you can do it, so can I."  
  
"Low Light---"  
  
"Sir. I owe it to you."  
  
"You don't owe me a damned thing! Now get back in that jeep and sit your ass down!" Hawk scowled at the sniper until Low Light nodded and crawled back into the jeep. Hawk swung into the jeep from the other side and sat next to him. "Better. Now. What did you need to talk to me about?"  
  
The night spotter crossed his arms and stared at the floor. "A favor, sir."  
  
"A favor?" Hawk's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"  
  
"Assign me as your permanent night guard, sir. Or at least until we catch this bastard."  
  
Hawk cocked his head. "Any particular reason for this request," he finally asked.  
  
Low Light shrugged. "No reason."  
  
"I see." Hawk crossed his own arms. "And if I were to loosen that gag order I slapped on you this morning?"  
  
The corners of Low Light's lips tugged down. "I let someone get past me, sir. I…don't know what happened after I got knocked out, but I know something bad went on. Real bad. I could smell the gunpowder. And I saw your ribs, Hawk. There was smudges and gun oil there, like someone pressed the muzzle of a revolver or an old pistol against you. And that red mark on your forehead."  
  
Hawk touched his forehead and winced. He didn't even realize.  
  
"Faint. Almost looks like a sunburn…except it's blocky, and I know you don't burn." He turtled his neck further into his dark Kevlar-jacket. "But it does bear a resemblance to the barrel of a Colt," he whispered. "I'm betting a freshly discharged .45 General Officer's Pistol." He jerked a thumb at Hawk's sidearm. "Yours. You had your gun out this morning. And the angle of the burn indicates…self-infliction. You fired it, didn't you, sir? But no one came to investigate and you're not reporting it. So something very, VERY bad went down. On my watch."  
  
"Low Light," the General began, not quite sure what to say.  
  
"Hawk," Low Light said in a voice that stopped him cold. The sniper squeezed his eyes shut tight. "You were directly threatened ON MY WATCH! I…" Low Light swallowed hard. "I let you down, Hawk. Don't try to BS me and say you're fine except for 'allergies'," he went on when it looked like Hawk was about to speak. "You put a GUN to your own HEAD right after firing it. That's not fine! And..." Low Light looked the older man directly in the eyes. "…I personally know wounded when I see it."  
  
Hawk became perfectly still.  
  
Low Light looked away. "Yeah," he said unhappily. "Like that."  
  
"Dammit, Low Light---"  
  
"I just want a chance to redeem myself, sir. Please. No one gets by me this time, I swear to you. Please."  
  
Hawk let out a long, deep breath. "I would much rather forget the whole thing happened," he finally admitted. "Deal with it much later. But," he sighed, "this is really bothering you, isn't it?"  
  
Low Light lowered his head. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Well," Hawk sighed again, "I can't ignore that." He nodded. "Barring special missions, then, permission granted."  
  
Low Light visibly relaxed. "Thank you, sir."  
  
"Feel better?"  
  
"Yes, sir---well, almost." He looked at Hawk from the corner of his eyes, almost timidly, tense again. "Why won't you tell anyone?"  
  
Hawk closed his eyes, unconsciously drawing his jacket tighter about himself. 'Wounded' Low Light called him. The man was right. It was both too old and too new a pain to touch logically just now and Hawk HAD to tread carefully. The Joes didn't deserve the fallout from his personal life, but they would get it anyways. Hawk had to tell the Joes in the Chain of Command, to prepare for ANY scenario to ensure GI Joe's continuation, just in case…but…  
  
…but not just yet…  
  
Hawk reached out and clapped the sniper on the shoulder. "I have my reasons," he said softly. "Not necessarily good ones, not necessarily wise ones, but reasons."  
  
"Reasons…that give you 'allergies,'" Low Light stated sadly.  
  
Hawk bit back something that felt like either a choke or a chuckle. "Yeah, solider. It's giving me a hell of a lot of 'allergies.'"  
  
Low Light absorbed that in silence.  
  
"Ahhh, to hell with being miserable." Hawk squeezed the sniper's shoulder companionably before jumping out of the jeep. "The gag order is back in place," Hawk told him. "We don't even talk about it between ourselves unless I clear it, understood?"  
  
Low Light nodded resignedly. "Yes, sir." He hesitated. "Good reasons or not, sir, I'll follow your lead."  
  
"Thank you." Hawk coughed. "Well. Let's not keep the rest of the team waiting. Buddy up with an old bird?"  
  
"Suits me fine, sir. Technically, I'm still on guard duty." Under Hawk's watchful eye, Low Light slid out of the jeep and carefully stepped away. He stretched out and gave Hawk a thumbs-up. "Good to go, sir."  
  
"Then move it, Joe! We got less than three minutes to make it!"  
  
Together they practically flew down the hill and into the forest of the river valley below. If they were late then even Hawk would become subject to Beach Head's authority as GI Joe's Head Trainer. Many push-ups would be in the cards then, and Hawk didn't think he could deal with his hard-nosed Fourth without blowing up.  
  
There was only so much a man could take in one morning.  
  
They broke through the trees into the sun-dappled clearing with ten seconds to spare, right smack into…  
  
Hawk blinked.  
  
…chaos?  
  
The Joe team was standing around in loose clusters, arguing--- ARGUING!---instead of preparing for the Obstacle Course. Even more dumbfounding was the sight of his entire Command Chain standing at the outskirts of this group argument, scowling but not interfering.  
  
Before Hawk could get more than a lung full of air, Duke, dressed in a black spy-jumper, gripped his arm. "Don't, sir. Not yet anyways." He pulled Hawk back into the tree line, followed by Beach Head and Low Light.  
  
No one else noticed.  
  
"Duke. Beach Head," Hawk hissed. "What the hell IS this?"  
  
"This," Beach Head said, his Southern drawl thick with disgust, "is what I get for not listening to the medicine-man and the shrink." He drew himself up ramrod-straight. "As the Head Trainer, sir, I take full responsibility for not putting the fear of God into the Greenshirts like I was supposed to."  
  
"What about the Greenshirts," Hawk growled.  
  
Duke sighed. "Apparently the Greenshirts lost enough of their awe of us Vets to cross that thin line into terminal stupidity."  
  
Hawk pinched the bridge of his nose. "Start from the beginning. Pretend I've been bouncing between here and DC too much to know what's been going on."  
  
"Let me start, BeachHead," Duke said, squaring his shoulders. "I don't know if you knew this, sir, but there's been a lot of tension between the newer Joes---the Greenshirts---and the Vets. The Greenies are all used to being overachievers. Not being in the top slots is a new sensation for most of them, and they're not adjusting well. Of course," he said wryly, "it doesn't help that a lot of the Vets are feeling a little threatened by this ambitious bunch."  
  
"I was hopping to channel all that into a healthy form of competition," BeachHead continued. "Keep the older Joes on their toes, try to toughen up the youngers. Make 'em lean, mean, fighting machines." He shook his head. "'Least I can honestly say I got that much done." He crossed his arms. "Spirit and Psyche-Out tried to warn me I was just riling 'em up…but, well…I didn't listen. Never even saw the powder keg till it blew up just now."  
  
"Even Spirit and Psyche-Out didn't expect it to be this bad," Duke said, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
"Where are they," Hawk asked.  
  
BeachHead gestured with his chin. "Out there. Trying to calm folks down. Them and Lifeline are the only voices of reason out there."  
  
"And before you ask, Hawk," Duke put in, "they asked for the Command Chain to keep out of this for now. This was going to come out sooner or later, so they said we all might as well deal with it in the privacy of the woods."  
  
Hawk's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't look like they're dealing very well."  
  
"Neither does Psyche-Out," Low Light observed softly. "He actually looks pissed."  
  
The other men peered around the sniper's shoulders. "That," Duke said, loosening his collar with a finger, "is not a good sign."  
  
"What set this powder keg off," Hawk demanded.  
  
"Umm…" Duke and BeachHead exchanged quick glances before studying the ground intently.  
  
"Duke," Hawk said, his voice deceptively soft. "Are we going to have another talk?"  
  
"No, sir," Duke said hastily. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you this time." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just…don't know how to phrase this."  
  
"Beach Head, give it to me straight," Hawk said impatiently.  
  
"Me? I…" He glanced at Duke nervously. The Second gestured to him resignedly. "I…don't quite know how to say this tactfully---"  
  
"If I wanted tact, I'd pry it out of him," Hawk said, jerking a thumb at Duke. "But I want to know NOW. So I'm asking YOU. Do I have to repeat myself?"  
  
"No, sir!" BeachHead took a deep breath. "The Vets just found out the Greenies were running a bet."  
  
"And…that's it? A damned BET?"  
  
"Not JUST a bet," BeachHead said. "A bet about today's run. About you, sir."  
  
"Me?"  
  
BeachHead braced himself as Duke winced. "They were betting on your performance, sir. Most were betting you wouldn't even make it to the end under your own power. I understand there were even bets on which station you'd wuss out on."  
  
"Maybe a little too blunt," Duke murmured.  
  
For a very, very long time, Hawk said nothing.  
  
Hawk shrugged out of his old aviator-jacket and tapped the three silver stars on one shoulder strap with a thoughtful finger. "Catch," he said suddenly, tossing his jacket at Duke.  
  
The Second caught it out of pure reflex. "What am I supposed to do with it?"  
  
"Wear it for all I care. You three, stay here," Hawk ordered. "Keep out of my way."  
  
"Sir, I'm still on duty," Low Light protested.  
  
"You're a sniper. Snipe," Hawk said curtly, tucking his dog tags under his olive tee shirt.  
  
"Hawk, where're you going," BeachHead asked.  
  
"Where do you think," Hawk snapped. "Damned desk," he muttered.  
  
"Let him go," Duke said, holding both Beach Head and Low Light back. "Low Light, Hawk gave you your orders."  
  
"Yeah, he did," Low Light sighed, slipping his rifle from his shoulder.  
  
"He didn't pull anything like this last night, did he," BeachHead asked.  
  
"Can't complain," Low Light said blandly, making a sniper's nest behind a diseased stump.  
  
"Beach Head, c'mon," Duke said, putting the jacket on. "Help me pull Flint and the Field Commanders out of the line of fire." His lips thinned. "I think this is going to be bad."  
  
Hawk checked his stride, slowing down enough to not be too noticeable. Just another Joe in green fatigues. No one ever really saw past the dress uniform or stars enough to notice his face.  
  
No one but his Veterans, whom he signaled to be quiet. Pale, doomed, but compliant, the senior Joes held their tongues. The Greenshirts, emboldened by the silence, pressed their arguments even louder.  
  
"---might have been good in his day, but c'mon, he's OLD---"  
  
"---you old Joes just can't take a ribbing---"  
  
"---YOU guys did a whole lot worse than this, and got away with more-- -"  
  
"Um, isn't the General a platinum blonde?"  
  
"More like ash. I hear $100 from the pot goes to any Joe with enough guts to ask him if its real. Why? OH SH--- I mean shoot. I mean---"  
  
Shipwreck's voice cut right through the babble. "HEY! GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!"  
  
Hawk automatically locked onto the sailor and broke off into a dead run, dodging past the other Joes. Like flashcard pictures, he saw Lifeline sprawled on the ground, Shipwreck rushing up, and a huge red-haired Greenshirt (Bert McDowel, Hawk remembered distantly. Army Corporal, Infantry) standing over Lifeline waiting for the sailor's attack. "STOP!"  
  
Shipwreck hit the brakes hard, stopping off balanced.  
  
McDowel, seeing this, grinned and hauled back a fist.  
  
Hawk slid the rest of the way to the men, sweeping the Greenshirt's legs from under him. "Dammit, when I say stop, YOU STOP!" He grabbed a double handful of McDowel's shirt and hauled him up to his own eye level. "DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, GI JOE?"  
  
The change of uniform may have masked Hawk to the Greenshirts, but no one was deaf enough to forget his voice. Especially when it thundered right point blank at them. Beads of sweat sprouted from McDowel's brow. "G-General Tomahawk---"  
  
"You have a problem with the medic? Deal with it! You're his candy striper for the next month!" Hawk shoved the man back. "FALL IN!"  
  
As the Joes fell into formation, Hawk gave Lifeline a hand up. "You OK?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Lifeline said, brushing himself off. "Thank you, sir."  
  
"Fall in with the others," Hawk ordered. Lifeline nodded and jogged off.  
  
The sky began to darken. A storm was rolling in fast.  
  
That suited Hawk's mood just fine.  
  
Hawk swung his raptor's scowl at the columns of Joes standing at ramrod attention in the middle of the clearing. "GOOD MORNING, SIR!"  
  
"No! NOT 'good,'" he sneered, stalking the front of the columns. "I came here expecting to train with the elite of the world. Instead I land smack into the middle of a gossiping hen house!" He paced before them, his fists clenched tight behind his back. "Let's get some things straight," he hissed. "My age, my sense of humor, my DAMNED HAIR COLOR is NOT your concern! What kind of shenanigans I USED to let Joe get away with is NOT your concern any more! When I command the best of the best, I turn a blind eye to some going ons because I believe in the truism of 'work hard, play hard.' But if this is the results of my leniency then you may consider such privileges REVOKED!"  
  
Shipwreck snickered.  
  
"DID I HEAR YOU SAY SOMETHING, JOE?"  
  
"Um, no, sir."  
  
"Glad to hear it, because the next time I see you, that beard will be shaved."  
  
The sailor's eyes went wide. "Wha---Hawk---"  
  
"DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY! ARE YOU SMILING AT SOMETHING, CANDY STRIPER? GET DOWN AND JOIN HIM!" McDowel began to pump out push-ups next to Shipwreck. "All beards will be shaved, all hair will be bound or cut above the shoulders." He grabbed the jaws of one nervously chewing young woman and pried out a wad of gum from her mouth. "None of this on duty or training," he growled, throwing it to the ground. "And no more bets! I catch a whiff of so much as a poker game anywhere and you are ALL busted. ALL OF YOU!" At the look of utter dismay on the Joes, Hawk's lip curled back even further. "What's that? No fair, you're all thinking? Almost as unfair as a Joe trying to pick on a PACIFIST, wouldn't you say?"  
  
McDowel, to his credit, at least had the grace to look embarrassed.  
  
"No, not fair at all," Hawk snarled. "And it sticks in my craw that I've got to resort to this, but we've got a problem." His scowl deepened. "There's an 'us vs. them' mentality here. Not 'us Joes vs. Cobra.' It's 'us old Joes vs. the new Joes.' It's 'Greenshirts vs. the Vets.' And that has to stop. If I have to adopt an 'All of us or none of us' policy, then so be it!" Hawk stopped abruptly. "Now I'm not so old or so full of my stars to actually believe that me yelling and threatening a mass punishment will cure all problems. There are some damn hard feelings here, and they should have been dealt with before they got out of hand. This is one of the reasons we have a Command Chain. I haven't been able to get a chaplain ornery enough to deal with you all yet, but if you didn't want to drag any of this before the Command Chain, you should have approached Spirit, Psyche- Out, or even Lifeline! Instead…we get this." He crossed his arms and waited for Shipwreck and McDowel to get back in line. "I'm damned disappointed in all of you," he said through grit teeth. "I expected a greater degree of professionalism from my Joes. Since you've all proven that belief to be faulty, I'm going to allow a cooling off period between factions. Maybe a little time apart will help." He beckoned to the Command Chain, lurking from behind the trees. "Beach Head, take the Vets and hit the Course. I'm with the Greenshirts today." He smiled humorlessly. "You all get to warm-up with me, and get my full, undivided attention." He bared his teeth wider. "Think of it as spending quality time with me."  
  
"All right, Vets, you heard the General," BeachHead said. "Move 'em out!"  
  
Hawk watched as his Vets took off in a run down the Course. Thunder rumbled and the sky turned even darker, almost night black. The Course was going to be hell to slosh through.  
  
Nothing like a little adversity to bring a team together.  
  
Hawk was in the middle of push-ups when the sky finally opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, splattering mud over everyone. "What's the matter," Hawk demanded, spitting out silt. "Afraid of getting dirty?"  
  
"SIR, NO, SIR!"  
  
"Then give me twenty-five more!"  
  
And that's when a corpse fell right on top of Hawk.  
  
"GENERAL!"  
  
"I'm fine," he said, pushing the dead man off. He got to his feet and yanked out his gun. "What the hell---"  
  
Another dead man fell from the trees.  
  
At that moment Flint's voice echoed form dozens of wrist-coms across the clearing. "Ambush! Duke's down! GET HAWK OUT!"  
  
Before anyone could move, another dark shape crashed into Hawk, this one still very much alive. Hawk's gun went flying as they tumbled past the tree line, sliding in the mud and wet vegetation to take them far beyond the clearing. Something cold and sharp sliced across Hawk's chest, grating against his dog tags. Cursing, he struggled against the slippery rainwater and muck to hold his assailant back. Behind him the sounds of gunfire told him that his Greenshirts were under attack in the dark of the storm. "Com on," he yelled, activating his wrist-com by voice. "FALL BACK AND GET DOWN," he roared. "USE THE TREES FOR COVER!" He fought to get back on his feet. "SOMEONE GET A FLARE!"  
  
"GENERAL!" A voice in the forest. "WHERE ARE YOU?"  
  
Paige Adams, he thought distantly. Army Lieutenant, Marksman. The woman who wanted to know if his hair was natural. She was close. She was standing.  
  
She was going to get him killed.  
  
"Adams, get down," Hawk screamed. "That's an order!" He couldn't tell if she obeyed, but he was going to have to trust that she did. He was slipping too much. He could feel the knife start to bite into his neck now. "TAKE THE SHOT!"  
  
"Sir, I can't see you," Adams said, her voice close to the ground.  
  
Hawk ignored her. "TAKE THE SHOT NOW!"  
  
A high-powered bullet ripped clean through Hawk's right shoulder and lodged into his attacker's heart. Together they fell as the clearing lit up in a bright magnesium flash.  
  
"HAWK!" Adams fast-crawled to his side.  
  
"Ahh DAMMIT," he hissed sitting up, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He glanced at the wide-eyed Greenshirt, still hugging the ground. "Good girl," he smiled weakly.  
  
"Sir, your shoulder---"  
  
He nodded curtly. "Wrap it for me. Give me your pistol. I'll watch your back." She passed him her gun, which he awkwardly gripped with his left hand. He spoke calmly into his wrist-com. "Hawk here. Status report."  
  
At the sound of his voice, cheering could be heard over the line. "McDowel here, sir! The enemy has been neutralized. We're securing the area now."  
  
"Don't shoot Low Light. He's out there somewhere."  
  
A dry, whispery voice spoke up over the com. "I see you, sir. I'll do a sweep before coming over."  
  
"Acknowledged. Flint?"  
  
"We got them on the run, Hawk! Request permission to pursue!"  
  
"Denied. They're running too quick. I don't trust that. Get your ass back here, you've got wounded to think of. How bad is Duke?"  
  
"Pissed as hell!" Hawk smiled in relief at the sound of his growling Second. "Dammit, Lifeline, I'm fine!"  
  
"Lifeline here. Duke's our only causality. He's lucky. Just got his skull creased."  
  
"Yeah, lucky me Cobra snipers can't hit worth a damn. Lifeline, I said I'm fine!"  
  
"He's also got a mild concussion. I recommend we get him back to base."  
  
"Lifeline, I said---"  
  
"Duke, shut up," Hawk snapped. "That's an order! Flint, you're in charge. I'm sending a detachment of Greenshirts to meet you. Mainframe, inform Wright-Patterson Airbase that we've got intruders. Tell them to scramble Hueys for a search and to kick up their radar. And dammit, I want to know how they snuck in here! Hurry back, Joes. We've got wounded here too. Watch yourselves. Hawk out."  
  
"You didn't tell them you're one the wounded," Adams commented, ripping his shirtsleeve open.  
  
"Bad for morale," he hissed. He waited until he was sure he could talk normally again. He hit the com a second time. "McDowel---"  
  
"I heard, sir. Already sent ten of our guys to go meet them."  
  
"Good work, son. Anyone else down?"  
  
"Just the bad guys."  
  
"We have prisoners?"  
  
"Just one," he said grimly. "But Kamakura doesn't think he'll last long."  
  
"Hell," Hawk sighed.  
  
"Sir? Kamakura…he said there's something not right about these guys. He said they don't feel like Cobra."  
  
"Great. Just what I needed to hear," Hawk muttered, grimacing as Adams cleaned the wound. "Leave the bodies, McDowel. Try not to disturb anything. Despite the rain there could be clues. If anyone finds anything else, send it encrypted to me." Hawk thought quickly. "Low Light, you were with Criminal Investigations. I want you and Lady Jaye to play sleuth for me. If these guys aren't Cobra I want to know who they are and why they're trying to kill me and Duke."  
  
"Sir," Low Light said slowly. "I think Duke was a mistake. Flint, is Duke still wearing Hawk's jacket?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah he is, stars and all. Still think this is funny, Hawk?"  
  
"Muzzle it, Fairborne. Low Light, Lady Jaye, ID these guys."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And Low Light?"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"You did good work, solider. You didn't let me down."  
  
The Joe sniper let out a whoosh of air, his soft voice shaking as he spoke. "Just promise you won't ever make me take another shot like that again, Hawk."  
  
"Sorry, solider. Wish I could." He winced as Adams cinched the wet bandage tight. "Really."  
  
Low Light sighed. "I'll be there soon, sir. Low Light out."  
  
"Sir?" Hawk looked at Adams. Her eyes were wide with awe. "Low Light…HE made that shot? In this weather? THROUGH you? He could have---I mean---"  
  
"He wouldn't have missed," Hawk told her. "He's the best of the best." He grinned. "You can learn a lot from him, Adams."  
  
She nodded slowly. "I think…I'm really beginning to see that, sir."  
  
"Brown," Hawk said abruptly, flexing his shoulder slowly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I dyed my hair brown once. Got tired of Cobra taking pot shots at me like I was some white wigged Redcoat Officer from the Revolution."  
  
"OH! So it really is---I mean, why'd you stop? Not that it's any of my concern---"  
  
"No, it's not, but I'll tell you anyways. Too much of a damned nuisence to keep up and I was still getting shot at. So I said, to hell with it, and let it grow gilt again."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Since you were all so damned curious."  
  
"Sir…about that…the whole thing…I'm sorry."  
  
He looked at her for a second. "Well," he said, smiling. "That's a start."  
  
"But we're all still busted, huh?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
She shrugged. "Had to try."  
  
"I know, Joe. I'd be worried if you didn't."  
  
His wrist-com started to vibrate. Hawk frowned. An encrypted text message was coming in. "Adams, if you'll excuse me?"  
  
"Of course, sir." She pulled out a second pistol from her gunbelt, stood, and turned her back to him, alert for troubled through the torrent of rain.  
  
Hawk punched in his private code and read the transmission.  
  
  
  
HAWK,  
  
PRISIONER JUST DIED. LAST WORDS: "MCBRIDE YOU TRAITOR."  
  
PLEASE ADVISE.  
  
KAMAKURA  
  
  
  
Hawk immediately wiped the screen.  
  
'McBride you traitor.'  
  
McBride…  
  
Dammit.  
  
Quickly, he typed his own encrypted message back.  
  
  
  
KAMAKURA,  
  
GAG ORDER. WILL HANDLE PERSONALLY.  
  
HAWK  
  
  
  
He wiped the screen clear again. He reached over and tore the mask off the body. He couldn't see it too clearly. Too dark.  
  
Didn't matter.  
  
A dry voice whispered through the rain. "Hawk?"  
  
Adams jumped, swinging her gun around. "Dammit, sir!" She lowered her gun. "Make some noise next time!"  
  
"Sorry. Hawk, you OK?"  
  
"Been better," he grunted, getting to his feet. "But not dead. Here's your third kill," he said, nodding to the body. "You can start your investigation with him."  
  
"May I help you, sir," Adams asked Low Light eagerly, holstering her gun.  
  
"Actually, Adams," Hawk said. "I'd appreciate it if you could find this old man's gun. I'd hate like hell to lose it."  
  
"Might still be in the clearing. I'll go see, sir. You can borrow mine until I find it."  
  
"Thank you, Adams. I'll stay and assist Low Light. We'll meet you back there." He waited until she was well on her way and Low Light shifted his weapon so he could kneel. "Here, Low Light, let me hold your rifle for you."  
  
"Thanks, Hawk." Low Light handed the high-powered rifle to Hawk, who slung it over his left shoulder. Low Light knelt in the mud and bent closer to the dead man. With his night vision goggles and his extraordinary natural eyesight, he managed to get a good look at the man's bare face.  
  
He froze.  
  
Very deliberately, very loudly, Hawk chambered a round into the pistol. He didn't point it. Even now he didn't have the heart.  
  
But Low Light didn't know that. Very slowly, he raised both hands above his head.  
  
"Cooper McBride," Hawk said harshly, addressing the sniper by his real name. "Look at me."  
  
Carefully, passively, Low Light turned to face Hawk, still kneeling in the mud.  
  
"Lower your hands but keep them where I can see them. Understand?"  
  
Low Light's voice was almost inaudible. "…yes, sir…"  
  
"You've served under me for a long time. You just saved my life when you could have killed me easily. So against my better judgment, I'm going to trust you to answer me truthfully." He nodded at the body. "Do you know this man?"  
  
"…yes, sir…"  
  
"From where?"  
  
"Hawk…I shouldn't---"  
  
"Dammit, McBride, you tell me or I'm going to have to assume you're a Cobra agent!"  
  
"NO! Sir, I'd never work for those snakes! You know that!"  
  
"I thought I knew a lot of things about you, McBride, but now I'm starting to wonder!" He glared at Low Light for a long moment. "Dammit, man, tell me something, give me a second option. Give me the TRUTH."  
  
"I…" Low Light's shoulders slumped. "He's…he's a Special Agent, sir. A Field Operative." He took a deep breath. "Of SHIELD." He bowed his head. "Like me," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
Hawk scowled fiercely. "You're the SHIELD spy," he hissed.  
  
Low Light nodded dejectedly. "Yeah. I am. But, sir, if you'll just let me explain---"  
  
"Can you explain him," Hawk demanded.  
  
Low Light glanced at the body and shook his head. "The only thing I know about any of this is what Duke told us and now…this." He shook his head again. "This doesn't make any sense. Neither Carter nor Fury would authorize anything like this against you, sir. It's too sloppy and obvious. Especially since I'm here to ID the bodies."  
  
"Does anyone else know you're a SHIELD spy?"  
  
"Just you, sir. I report directly to Carter. All of my former colleagues in SHIELD believe I'm dead. I'd like to keep it that way."  
  
"Well, at least one of these men knew you were alive and here. He called you a traitor."  
  
"He knew I was here?" Suddenly the sniper's gaze became intense. "What name did they call me by?"  
  
"McBride."  
  
Low Light's face was as grim as a tombstone. "Then I'd say we both have a problem, sir. When I worked with other SHIELD Agents I went masked and was only known by my Agent number. Everything about me was classified."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Not here, sir. The area isn't secure enough for this night-owl to sing anymore." He paused. "Respectfully, sir? I think we're both in serious trouble."  
  
"I'm very much aware of that, son. More than you know."  
  
"So…what now, sir?"  
  
Hawk regarded Low Light for a long while, thoughts racing. Without taking his eyes off the sniper, Hawk typed out another encoded message on his wrist-com.  
  
  
  
MAINFRAME,  
  
TRANSMIT TRIPLE ENCRYPTED/SCRAMBLED/STEALTH TO AVENGERS CHAIRMAN SECURED PRIVATE LINE.  
  
WARBIRDS  
  
HAWK  
  
  
  
"Now we wait for help," Hawk told him, clearing the screen. "Until it gets here, you're going to continue this investigation with Lady Jaye. Share with her as much as you feel necessary, but tell her to keep the info just between you two and me. No one else, not Duke, not even Flint, not even if W himself comes asking. And then…" Hawk slipped the rifle from his shoulder and held it out. "Then, son, you've got some serious explaining to do."  
  
Low Light flinched as he gently took back the rifle. "I know I do, sir." He bowed his head as he cradled the rifle. "I know I do." 


	4. Jay Bird

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

By the time the Joe team was reunited, Low Light had become a Legend. The Joe who shot THROUGH the Tomahawk to kill the three assassins he struggled with ("Just one with Hawk," Low Light tried to correct.) from 2000 yards ("More like 400.") amidst hurricane force winds ("It was a cloud burst!") with one bullet! ("There were THREE I shot in all! Count them! I needed THREE bullets, one for each!")

Well, what exactly happened didn't matter to the Joes. Low Light was now a part of the Team Mythos, right up there with Gun Ho and the time he lifted a whole Cobra Hiss tank with his bare hands!

"Rip off one sportscar door and suddenly it's a tank. Go figure," Gun Ho told the sniper with a shrug. He slapped Low Light on the back. "Don't worry, mon frere, you'll get used to it."

"Yeah. Great," Low Light muttered.

The Greenshirts were in too much awe to notice Low Light's discomfort, and the Vets merely chalked it up to the sniper's quiet nature unused to the admiration. And if anyone at all noticed the tension between Low Light and Hawk...well, even if Low Light only shot Hawk under orders to save his CO, he still SHOT the man. 

By early afternoon, Lady Jaye and Low Light were ready to present Hawk a preliminary report. 

Clean, bandaged, and sticking to green fatigues and black spy-jumper respectively, Hawk and Duke both shunned painkillers, knowing they needed to stay clear headed for this meeting. Lifeline protested mightily at first, almost refusing to discharge them from the infirmary. He finally capitulated when Hawk agreed to wear a sling and ordered Duke into a wheelchair. "If they're going to insist on being miserable, at least they're not going to strain themselves," Lifeline grumbled to McDowel as they left to perform autopsies on the assassins. 

Over the com, BeachHead breathed a sigh of relief. He was excused from the meeting to help Flint oversee the team while on alert status. To him, ANYTHING was better than being in a small room with BOTH Hawk and Duke breathing fire.

Flint, on the other hand, marched right into the infirmary to face Hawk, flatly refusing to be brushed aside so easily. 

"I do not want the majority of the Command Chain involved in this while I am in someone's crosshairs," Hawk snapped as Lady Jaye helped him struggle into the sling. "God forbid, but if something should happen to us all, do you want BeachHead to be running this outfit by himself?"

Flint shot Jaye a quick, pained look. "Sir, I really don't think---"

Lady Jaye touched her husband's elbow. "'There are more things under Heaven and Earth, Horatio...'"

That brought Flint up short. "Dammit, Jaye---"

Her chin raised. "You agreed, Flint," she told him sharply. "You promised me---" 

"I KNOW," he shouted. He quickly lowered his voice. "But it's my people this time, and dammit, I should be doing something to help!" 

"You can help by keeping the snakes down," Hawk told him. "I refuse to let this take up all of our time and attention while Cobra is slithering around out there. Like I asked before, do you want BeachHead to be running this outfit by himself?"

"No, sir," Flint sighed. A sudden crash on the other side of the room caught his attention. "Maybe I better help Low Light get Duke into that chair," he said.

When Flint was out of earshot, Hawk turned an amused eye at Jaye. "Shakespeare?" 

"A code phrase between us," she explained. "That's our way of telling the other to back off from an issue. We both knew we'd be doing sensitive work and there'd be things we wouldn't be able to discuss." She frowned slightly. "I'll be honest, though, Hawk, I don't like keeping secrets from my husband." 

"Nor I my Commanders. Both Flint and BeachHead are able leaders. I respect and value their frankness. But this situation requires...a subtle touch."

"For his sake," she asked, her eyes flicking to Low Light. 

"Partially," Hawk admitted reluctantly. 

She sighed with aggravation and pushed back her short brown hair. "Hawk, I'm an Intelligence Operative, not a psychic. I need all the information you and Light can give me in order to do my job. You want to know who these guys really are, who really sent them? I need to know everything you two do." 

His lips thinned. "I...can't tell you everything, Jaye. But..." He closed his eyes and turned his head away. "...there ARE some things I need to tell you. Things...I wish I didn't have to discuss..."

"Hawk?" He felt her fingers brush the corner of his lids. He opened his eyes to see her concerned face. She looked at her moist fingertips, then back to him. "Bad?"

Hawk settled his sling more comfortably, trying to compose himself. "Last chance to back out," he said harshly.

She leaned over, pretending to check the gauze around his neck, her posture relaxed. But Hawk could see her green eyes flashing. "Respectfully, sir," she hissed into his ear, "I didn't come back to Joe to sit on my hands. Besides, if I didn't abandon you in Borovia, I'm certainly not going to abandon you now."

He managed a small smile. "I was hoping you'd feel that way." He reached out and gripped her shoulder. "Thank you."

Hawk's wrist-com beeped. "Hawk here."

"We didn't send them, Abernathy," a woman's voice stated.

He frowned, motioning for Jaye to give him room. Wordlessly, she stepped out and pulled the privacy curtain shut, making a great show of exasperation over the General's modesty. "Who is this," Hawk demanded.

"Spy vs. Spy, who do you think? Raven told me to tell you straight, it wasn't us."

"And I should believe you why," Hawk asked.

"If we wanted you dead, Raven could have done that this morning. While you were sound asleep. You and that two-faced guard of yours."

"I don't know what---"

"Save it," she said curtly. "The blonde doesn't go to the brain cells. If he hasn't told you everything yet, he will. I know my own men."

"Now you listen to me, you---"

"'---officious, high handed young lady?' Please, just call me a bitch and get it over with."

"If you insist," he mocked.

"Oh, but I do," she cooed. Her voice hardened. "As a gesture of good will you get to keep the bodies, for now. My Agent has been authorized to assist your team's investigation. We want to know who's behind this as badly as you do. My people have been compromised and used. No one does that to us and gets away with it."

"Except for you," Hawk remarked sarcastically.

"Pot calling the kettle black, Abernathy. But I guess that's OK. Less for your people to get used to when they become my command. Spy out."

Hawk swallowed back a roar of rage, opting instead to overturn the gurney he had been sitting on and kicking it viciously.

Lady Jaye ripped the curtains open. She took in the scene rather more calmly than one would expect when seeing their CO on the rampage. "Cut on your chest stings," she asked mildly. 

Before he could answer her, his wrist-com beeped again. "WHAT," he roared.

"...um...t-there's an Army Captain out here, sir," the guard outside the infirmary told him. "H-he said he has your eagle feather?"

"Send him in," Hawk ordered, signaling for everyone to head for the door. 

A huge blonde man wearing Army battle dress fatigues and a full pack on his back entered the infirmary. Sliver Captain bars gleamed from each collar.

"YOU," Duke exclaimed, glaring at the Captain. "What are---"

"IT'S ABOUT TIME," Hawk roared. "What the hell took you so long? Never mind. Fall in. Everyone gets debriefed about everything in one shot and DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, JAYE?"

Lady Jaye tore her shocked eyes away from the Captain. "No problem, sir." She grabbed Duke's wheelchair from her husband and pushed the Second out the door. "No problem at all."

"Jaye? Would that be the Lady Jaye the General's spoken of," the Captain asked politely, falling in step next to her. "It's a pleasure to finally meet."

"Likewise," she nodded, trying not to appear flustered.

"Is that a slight Gaelic lilt I hear?" He grinned, cocking his head. "Can't quite place it. My parents were from Dublin themselves, but their accent never rubbed off on me. Where did you---"

"I'm sorry," Flint said through clenched teeth, shouldering his way between them. "Everyone seems to know you but me. Honey, why don't you introduce us?"

"FAIRBORNE!"

"Yes, sir," both Jaye and Flint responded.

"You," Hawk said, pointing to Flint. "You have your assignment, Joe. Dismissed. You two," he said pointing to Jaye and the Captain. "Muzzle it."

Flint glanced at Jaye, who shrugged. He scowled, fired off an ill-tempered salute to Hawk and stormed off, deliberately bumping into the Captain as he left.

Jaye glared daggers at her husband's back.

It was a long walk to Hawk's office.

The silence lasted until Hawk angrily hit the locking controls for the heavy steel sliding doors. Once the doors were safely closed, Duke turned on the Captain. "Just who the hell ARE you? Yesterday you're a Private, now you're a Captain? Fort Killington's got a hell of a promotion system out there."

"Killington? He is NOT from Killington," Jaye said stoutly. "Hawk, tell him."

No response.

"Hawk?" Everyone looked over to see Hawk leaning his forehead against the doors.

"General Abernathy?"

A very different Hawk turned to face them. "Captain," he said softly, extending his hand. "Please forgive the shoddy welcome. I am truly grateful you made it here at all, let alone so fast."

"I was worried," the Captain admitted, gripping his hand warmly. "Your message didn't tell me a whole lot. So if you'll forgive an old warbird's bluntness," he gestured to Hawk and Duke, "what in blazes happened to you two?"

"I did say everyone gets debriefed about everything at once," Hawk sighed. He ran his hand through his hair. "I'm not even sure where to start."

Duke jabbed a thumb at the Captain. "How about REAL introductions."

The Captain smiled. "Tenacious, aren't you?"

"The teeth goes with the tags."

"I'll remember that."

Jaye clapped a hand over Duke's mouth. "Hawk," Jaye said loudly. "The introductions if you please?" 

Duke shoved her hand away. "Jaye----"

"Trust me, you'll thank me later," she hissed. "Hawk?"

Hawk turned his head towards his guest. "With the Captain's permission?" 

Eyebrows around the room raised at this deference.

The Captain nodded.

"Captain, I'd like to introduce you to some of my best Joes. My Second, Duke, you've met. Lady Jaye, my top Intel Op. Low Light, my night spotter. Joes, this is---" Hawk suddenly broke out into a wide grin. "This is Captain America."

Jaye smirked as Duke gaped. Low Light merely raised his goggles, smiling slightly.

"GI JOE! Atten-HUT," Duke barked, struggling to stand without wobbling.

"Whoa! Easy there, son," the Captain said, giving Duke a firm hand back down. "All of you, at ease. Please. Don't stand on ceremony for me. I'm just here to help." He looked hard into the younger man's eyes. "Concussion?"

"Mild, it's nothing," Duke told him. His expression turned sheepish. "Wish I could use it as an excuse for my behavior---"

"Don't feel embarrassed." The Captain shook his hand. "You were just looking out for your General." He gave Jaye a tolerant grin. "As your husband was just trying to look out for you." 

"Yes, but his wife doesn't require 'looking out for' in this case," Jaye said smoothly, offering her hand. "I'm sorry for my husband's rude behavior, Captain, there is simply no excuse. And I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for that letter Hawk had me send to you all those years ago. I was terribly embarrassed. It was much cooler than you deserved."

The Captain blinked, clearly charmed. "On the contrary, ma'am," he said, bowing over her hand. "It was much nicer than a lot of rejections I've gotten from this man's Army. And your husband, ma'am? Don't be too hard on him. If I were in his shoes, I think I'd react the same way."

"You're too kind, Captain. And please, call me Jaye."

"Well. I'd like it if you called me Steve. All of you."

Jaye dimpled. "Steve it is then."

Steve shook his head as he let go of her hand. "Your husband's a lucky guy." 

"Yes," she said wryly, "he is."

Steve chuckled.

"Captain," Duke said after the man shook hands with the silent sniper. "Steve. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but you said you were here to help? Help with what? No offense to Hawk, but this is hardly the first assassination attempt on him. This is nothing we can't handle ourselves." He paused significantly. "Or is there something you're not telling us, sir?"

"General Abernathy? You did say you'd debrief us," Steve reminded Hawk.

"Hawk. Just Hawk," he told him. He sat heavily behind his desk. "Have a seat everyone. This might take a while. Wait!" He stood up and shoved his chair in front of the desk. "Gather around. Don't need that damned thing." He ran a hand through his hair. "There's no way I can stay formal during this talk. I'll just make it worse if I try."

Puzzled glances were exchanged. Jaye pulled up a chair to sit across from Hawk, wheeling Duke over to be next to her. Low Light sat between Jaye and Hawk. Steve set his pack down and sat between Hawk and Duke. 

It was very quiet in that room.

"Is this how you start all discussions, Hawk," Steve finally asked.

"Sorry. This is hard for me." He rubbed his bandaged neck. "Still not sure where to start." 

"Maybe...maybe I'd better start then, sir," Low Light said. 

Hawk nodded. "Maybe you better, son." His eyes glinted unpleasantly. "I understand you've been... AUTHORIZED to assist in any way."

Low Light winced. 

Silent comprehension dawned in Steve's eyes.

Hawk leaned forward. "Help me understand WHY, solider."

Low Light pushed his knit cap off his head and sighed. "I've told Jaye about some of this, for the investigation. But not everything. I was too...afraid." The last word came out as fragile as a leaf skeleton on the wind. 

Fear was the last thing anyone expected Low Light to admit to feeling. No one knew what to say.

Low Light continued into the silence. "After Joe disbanded, you all know I went to work for the Criminal Investigation Division. I started out doing the same things I did in Joe, except less action, more red tape, less cooperation. I had to do some things myself if I wanted them done at all. Then the higher ups found out I was doing my own digital image enhancements for cases, made my own vision intensifiers for fieldwork. Thought I'd get busted for some reg or another, but they were impressed. Impressed enough to keep me off the field and more in the labs assisting other Agents with their cases. When I protested they told me to count myself lucky. They said..." His mouth twisted. "They said considering my psyche profile, they felt better with me in front of a computer or with a soldering iron than behind a gun. If it wasn't for your recommendation, Hawk, they never would have taken me in at all." He held up a hand. "I'm not bitter, not at you, sir. At them, yes, I'll admit it. But not you." He twisted his cap. 

"Tell them what happened next," Jaye prompted.

Low Light nodded. "SHIELD approached me. Said my talents were being wasted." He huffed self-depreciatingly. "And like an idiot, I agreed. I signed on. I was still with CID, but every once in a while I'd get The Call. Then I'd suit up and head for the SHIELD Helicarrier."

"Not how SHIELD usually handles their Agents," Steve frowned.

Low Light's gray eyes looked lost in thought. "I was a very Special Agent," he said softly, unhappily. "What I did required my ID to be classified." He shook his head. "After meeting my teammates the first time, I was glad. They were not the kind of guys I'd want to knock back brews with." He fiddled with his cap. "After a few missions, some went around unmasked, let slip their names." His lips tightened. "Fury was pissed, but he said it was our heads. I was the only one who kept under cover. Least," he sighed, "I thought I did." He shook himself. "Anyways, when Duke dropped word that Joe was back, I transferred out of CID no problem. SHIELD on the other hand...Carter wanted to talk. I was one of her best. She didn't want to lose me, but nothing could get me to stay on when Joe was calling me home. Then she made a different pitch. She said that she knew that Joe had been plagued by a group of corrupt Pentagon Brass called the Jugglers in the past. She said she wanted to take them out. She needed all the information she could get against them and GI Joe was the only group known to have attracted their attention. But she couldn't get past Duke. He wasn't letting anyone even smelling like a double Agent into the Greenshirts. So that meant she needed an old Joe. Like me. It...sounded good when she was saying it. I swear to you, I thought I'd be helping Joe!"

"Oh. NO!" Duke moaned and buried his face in his hands. "Low Light, tell me you didn't do what I think you did!"

"Wish I could, Duke," Low Light whispered. "I found out that Hawk had blackmailed his way into the Jugglers. And I told SHIELD. To reassure them. I know you, sir. You had a plan. I told Carter that. I figured since you had everything under control, I could get out of SHIELD." He shook his head. "But Carter doesn't trust you, Hawk. She thinks you're just another Juggler. She asked me to steal your files on them." He crossed his arms, jaw set. "I told her to go to hell."

"And that's would be when she recruited me," Steve nodded. "Sharon wanted me to get the information out of Hawk by whatever means necessary. I almost told her to go to hell myself." He grinned at Hawk. "After all, I can't be undermining a fellow warbird's operation now, can I?"

Hawk looked away. "I wish SHIELD saw it that way."

Steve's smile slipped from his face. "What ELSE did they do? Was it Nick? He said he wanted to talk to you."

"Fury did come by early this morning," Low Light told him. "He told me the same thing, that he just wanted to talk to Hawk. About something that would benefit Joe." He clenched his fists. "I shouldn't have trusted that lying SOB---!" His shoulders slumped. "But I did...I let him in while Hawk was asleep."

"WHAT," Duke roared, trying to get to his feet. 

"Oh, Light," Jaye groaned, covering her eyes.

Steve held Duke back. "Easy, son. This isn't helping."

"I've got every right to be upset," Duke said flatly, jerking his arm away from him. He never took his eyes off the sniper. "Nick Fury is just this shy of being a raving psycho. I can't believe you let him by."

For the first time, Steve's eyes began to burn. "Nick is NOT a 'raving psycho.' He's a good man trying to do a difficult job---"

"And rules are blurring for him with each passing year," Duke snapped. "You used to work for SHIELD too, Captain. Why'd you quit?"

"Stop it! Both of you," Jaye snapped with icy irritation. "Whether he's a psycho or not is moot to this discussion." She dragged the conversation back on track. "Low Light. You let Fury into Hawk's home. What happened next?"

Low Light twisted his cap. "Well, actually, then Fury tranqed me. He wanted to keep my cover intact. I don't know what happened next."

Everyone turned expectantly towards Hawk. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Fury wants Joe. I told him no. He threatened to take the team. I told him I'd fight him every step of the way. Then..." Hawk took another deep breath. "Then he told me if I didn't co-operate, if I raised hell over this...he'd let...certain information about me leak out."

The silence became stunned.

"He's..." Low Light swallowed hard. "He's BLACKMAILING you?"

Hawk nodded.

"With what," Steve demanded. "There's nothing ON you! I checked you out before I tried to join Joe and again before I met you at the airport. Every questionable thing you ever did was either done under orders or pardoned. Even THOSE things were done for the good of the country!"

"He found something," Hawk said grimly. "The worse part is...I'm not sure if its true or not."

"What do you mean, Hawk," Jaye asked softly.

"Doesn't matter. It's not relevant to the investigation."

"Hawk," Jaye said, frowning, "this could matter more than you think---"

"DON'T PUSH ME," he thundered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke quietly into the stunned silence. "I'm sorry, Jaye. Before we leave this room, I will tell you...just...please. Tell the Captain the rest about SHIELD first."

"'The rest?'" Steve sighed. "What else did they do?"

Lady Jaye held up a thin manila folder. "Well, apparently, they tried to assassinate Hawk."

"WHAT?!" Steve was on his feet, fists knotted.

"What do you think of your friends now," Duke asked bitterly.

"I," Steve said through grit teeth, "am going to KILL them myself!"

"Take a number," Duke growled.

Hawk slammed the flat of his hand onto his desk. "ENOUGH! Jaye. Report. Don't tease."

Jaye flushed. "Sorry, sir. Early this morning, at 0510, GI Joe split into two groups to run the Obstacle Course near the Mad River. The Vets took the Course first. Hawk was warming the Greenshirts up in the glen. Just prior to the split, Hawk gave Duke his aviator jacket, which Duke then wore.

"After examining the grounds around the course, Spirit believes that there was originally a single group of attackers lying in wait along the Course, with spotters at certain points. When Duke jogged past one of these spotters, we believe that the jacket Duke wore and the physical similarities between Duke and Hawk confused them. Some mistakenly thought that Duke was their target. Others noticed just enough differences between our two blondes to doubt. I'm sure that's why they split up. Better two dead bodies, one wrong and one right, than just one wrong one."

"Very...efficient," Steve winced.

"One group headed Duke off. The others backtracked to the glen to find the real target. At 0530, an enemy sniper winged Duke. The Joe Vets got him under cover and exchanged fire with the enemy. At the same time, our own sniper took out two assassins climbing down from the trees intent on attacking the real Hawk. A third managed to reach the General and separated him from the others. The Greenshirts were then kept occupied with an attack by a small group of the enemy. Low Light and one of the Greenshirts, Lt. Paige Adams, went after Hawk. There was a storm, it was dark, and Hawk was struggling too close with his attacker for Adams to shoot. But Low Light could and did. From---?"

"400 yards in a cloud burst," Low Light said quickly. "That's IT."

"In a forest?" The Captain gave a low whistle. "Still quite a shot, son."

"Don't know the half of it," Low Light muttered as Hawk's shoulder twitched.

"Of the five enemy bodies recovered, Low Light recognized them all as members from his old team in SHIELD." 

"Which team was that," Steve asked.

"Good question," Jaye said, looking pointedly at Low Light. "NOW will you tell me?"

Low Light bowed his head. "An assassination team."

Everyone fell silent.

"This wasn't a standard op," Low Light said. "They did go in without ID, and since none of the radar records indicate a thing and those tree-assassins came out of nowhere, I'm going to assume at least one cloaked Hovercar was used. So far, standard op, yes. The team that attacked Duke, a hit and run, engaging only to retreat, that sounds like a standard op too. But the team in the clearing..." Low Light looked at his teammates uneasily. "They were the kind of Agents that did a job...messy...to send a message. They would know a decoy when they saw one. Duke wouldn't have fooled them. But," he said, slapping his cap against his thigh, "those Agents never engage a guarded target without cover fire!"

"But they thought they had the cover," Jaye pointed out logically. "You."

Hawk nodded thoughtfully. "That would explain why one of those Agents said, 'McBride you traitor.'"

"But they didn't even know my real name. They shouldn't have even known I was still alive! I faked my own death on my last official SHIELD mission. Only Fury and Carter knew the truth. I had no clue about this," Low Light said earnestly. "You have to believe me!" 

To his surprise, Jaye nodded. "Oh, I believe you, Light. You could have killed Hawk easily, or not done a thing, and called the whole thing an accident or a crying shame without anyone being the wiser. Instead you saved his life, even if you did kill your old teammate to do it."

"I...didn't know it was him at the time..." Low Light's face turned grim. "But I wouldn't have done a damned thing different even if I did. He didn't give me a choice."

"Sounds to me like they were set up," Duke said. He squinted as he thought out loud. "Someone exposed you to set up the 'messy' Agents to kill Hawk, but wrote them off as disposable...all to pin the blame on SHIELD."

"Carter did call me earlier," Hawk said thoughtfully. "'My people have been compromised and used. No one does that to us and gets away with it.' Her very words. And---I can't believe I'm saying this---but Fury blackmailing me actually speaks in favor of his innocence. Why blackmail me when he has no qualms about killing me?" 

Steve suddenly banged his armrest with a fist. "SHIELD's been infiltrated!"

"AGAIN," Low Light exclaimed.

"'Again?' How often does this happen," Jaye questioned, a little horrified.

"Too many times," Steve said, running his hands through his hair. "If I know Sharon, she's ready to spit nails. Probably trying to find the culprits from the SHIELD side herself," Steve mused. "And it sounds to me, since Joe has ample motivation to track them down fast, she's letting you see what you can find from this side."

"A clandestine joint investigation." Duke snorted and shook his head. "My old 'Department' has worked jointly with SHIELD before. To say they don't play well with others is an understatement. Why are they putting this much trust in GI Joe when they don't trust our CO?"

Hawk laughed bitterly. "Don't forget, to their thinking, Joe WILL be SHIELD within the week. And I'll be either dead, destroyed, or just...quietly shuffle back to the Pentagon. Sit behind a desk, be just another Juggler in the shadows---"

"You are NOT just another Juggler," Steve suddenly roared, rising up. "You are the Poised Tomahawk, waiting for the right time to strike! The Snake-Eating Warbird that guards these warriors from the vultures who defiles our nation's fighting arm! And if you ever, EVER make another petulant, defeated whine like that again, I will throw you over my knee and spank you like the brat you just sounded like! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, YOUNG MAN?"

Four pairs of eyes looked at Captain America in utter shock.

Hawk gave a nervous bark of laughter. "Crystal clear, Captain." He ran a hand through his hair. "Thank you. I need a kick in the rear sometimes."

Steve relaxed and grinned. "My boot is always available, sir."

"JUGGLERS," Low Light abruptly blurted out, his dry voice crackling with rare excitement. "That's it! It's them, it has to be! They have the motivation, especially if they heard SHIELD was questioning Hawk about them. More if they knew Fury was blackmailing him! They'd be afraid he'd crack, or cut a deal to keep Joe!"

Hawk frowned. "Can't be them. Out and out assassination isn't their style. That's more Cobra's."

"Sir, if you can shoot holes in my reasoning, I'm more than willing to say I'm wrong," Duke told him.

"What if," Jaye began, tapping her lips in concentration, "What if it was BOTH the Jugglers and Cobra?"

Dead silence.

"Explain," Hawk ordered her.

She nodded, visibly gathering her thoughts. "Everyone has made valid points here. The Jugglers certainly have the motivation to see Hawk dead, especially if they caught wind of SHIELD's involvement. No, I'll take that a step further, they MUST know of SHIELD's involvement. That's why the assassins are from SHIELD. What better way of neutralizing SHIELD and illiminating a potential stool pigeon than to use SHIELD to kill the bird? AND," she said, jabbing a finger at Low Light, "making sure there was a witness, a way to prove it?"

"Evil," Duke said. "But no holes so far. You're scaring me, Jaye."

"Go on," Hawk encouraged.

"Obviously, to pull one over on SHIELD, you have to be damned good. Now the Jugglers have pulled their little power games on Joe, but they've never been able to infiltrate Joe. To give SHIELD its credit," she nodded ironically at Low Light, "they're one up on the Jugglers."

Low Light winced. 

"So its safe to assume that the Jugglers don't have a chance in hell of infiltrating SHIELD themselves." She paused. "But we all know that they've patroned Destro's services before."

"And Destro works with Cobra," Duke added, catching on.

"And Cobra has Zartan and his family," Jaye nodded. "They can get just about anywhere unnoticed, their disguise skills are that good." 

"They've waltzed in and out of Joe so many times, its damned embarrassing," Duke told Steve with frustration.

"So if this Zartan and his family can infiltrate Joe..." Steve said.

"It's a safe bet they can do the same to SHIELD," Low Light concluded grimily. "They might even have been able to disguise themselves as Fury, Carter, or even myself. That could be how my old team got their orders, why they thought I'd cover them."

Jaye steeled herself. "And...Hawk? I hate to say this, but if they could gain access to a Classified file like Low Light's...both Cobra and the Jugglers might know about your...dirt."

Hawk's face turned paper white. "Dammit," he whispered, running his hand over his face.

"Wait, it might not be that bad," Steve cautioned. "Nick's got a good dose of paranoia. He wouldn't keep sensitive Intel right within easy reach of Classified personnel files. Cobra and the Jugglers might not even know this dirt exists."

"But they might," Jaye said.

"I have to assume they know," Hawk snapped, rubbing his forehead.

"Why," Low Light asked. "You don't even know if Fury was lying to you." 

"What," Hawk frowned.

"He's right," Jaye said carefully. "Hawk, you pretty much admitted that Fury could have lied about that dirt he has on you." 

"I want VERY much to believe he lied through his teeth," Hawk agreed. "But I can't take that chance." 

"Why not," Duke asked. "Hawk...what is it?" 

Hawk closed his eyes. For a long moment, everyone was silent and still. "My wife," Hawk finally said. "Fury told me that my late wife was really a Viet Cong spy."

Jaye inhaled sharply.

"Wife," Duke hissed, unbelieving.

"No, there's no records," he told his Second. "It...wasn't an official marriage. In fact, I married her against direct orders," Hawk admitted. "We had to keep it a secret while I tried to get my CO to change his mind and give his official permission." Hawk rubbed his eyes. "In the end it didn't matter."

Jaye knelt in front of Hawk and gripped his arm. "Are you sure? Sure that she was a spy?"

Hawk gave a bitter bark of laughter. "Fury's pretty sure."

"But are you," she pressed.

"NO, dammit. But I'm biased. My opinion can't be trusted."

"Wait just a minute," she said sharply, her Gaelic accent starting to come out strong. "You're believing that git against your own instincts?"

"I have to," Hawk snapped. "I'm responsible for GI Joe, and my personal life has just left Joe wide open for a coup! I cannot afford to let my emotions direct my---"

"Can I speak freely, Hawk," she interrupted.

Hawk eyed her suspiciously for a second. "Granted."

She stood and shoved her face mere inches from Hawk's. "Then begging the General's pardon, but HA!" 

"FAIRBORNE," Duke roared. "You're out of line!"

Hawk raised a hand. "No, let our cheeky jay bird speak freely." He looked at her coolly. "You were saying?"

"I was saying that your emotions are the ONLY thing that's been directing you! You've been trying to stay impartial about her, trying to tell yourself that it doesn't matter what you think about her, but guess what, Hawk? IT'S NOT WORKING!" Her accent rolled out of her throat like the skirling of battle pipes. "What YOU think matters more to me than anything Fury says. We're supposed to TRUST him? Why? He has an ulterior motive! He wants US! If half the things I've heard about him are true, he's not above straight out lying for his own purposes!" She turned her green-fire eyes at Steve. "Go ahead. Call me on that," she dared.

Steve, wisely, raised his hands. "Can't. He has."

She turned back to Hawk. "Just look at what he's done to you, sir. He's found a way to twist you around until you don't know what to feel. For that alone I will never fully trust him...nor ever accept him as a CO." She drew herself up straight. "We are not losing you to anyone without a fight," she promised. "For our sake, don't you be rolling over for any of them. You were in the 101st Airborne, weren't you, sir?"

Hawk blinked at the sudden change in subject. "Yes. What does THAT have to do with THIS?"

"Everything," Steve said, catching on. "Your old Division has a fine traditional response to surrender demands, dating back to my day." He grinned widely and held out a fist. "Nuts."

"Nuts," Duke repeated firmly, putting his hand over Steve's fist.

"Nuts," Low Light echoed topping Duke's hand.

"Nuts," Jaye said with relish, placing her hand on top. She lifted her chin and looked haughtily at Hawk. "So what will it be, General? Are you our Snake-Eating Warbird, or are you just a turkey waiting to get stuffed?"

Hawk slowly got to his feet and towered over Jaye. She glared back at him defiantly. 

Hawk broke out into a warm smile. "Nuts," he said softly, putting his hand over hers. "GI JOE!"

"YO JOE!"


	5. Nest Raid

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
*After reading LanceGirl3132's poem, it almost seems disrespectful to post this chapter. But all I can say is keep the faith and read on, and hopefully this won't disappoint.  
___________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
  
The timer counted down. One second to go.  
  
"Captain America," Hawk barked.  
  
The Avenger tugged on his gauntlets. "On it!" He dove just as the horrible buzzing cut through the air.   
  
"Hurry," Lady Jaye yelled.  
  
The Captain yanked open the door, reached in, and pulled the tray of hot cookies from the oven. "Got them," he yelled triumphantly. He placed it on the range, letting them cool. "Smells good. Maybe Hawk will actually let us try some this time," he grinned. "Next batch ready, son?"  
  
"I guess." Low Light squinted at the lumpy cookie dough on the sheet. "Did I do this right?"  
  
Hawk peered blearily from his seat at the kitchen table. He leaned forward so far he nearly toppled out.  
  
Without batting an eye, Low Light stuck out a foot and pushed Hawk back into his chair.  
  
"Looks fine, solider," Hawk slurred, grinning. "Don't worry, they'll flatten out in the heat."  
  
Low Light shook his head as Steve whisked the sheet away. "If my Dad ever saw me baking COOKIES..."  
  
"Hey," Jaye protested, putting the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. "If you're about to say baking isn't manly, then you'd better be glad Roadblock's not here."  
  
"You tell him, Jaye," Hawk said sternly, trying to focus on the sniper. "Solider, I'll have you know that I had to chase Roadblock away from this recipe. Consider this a privilege."   
  
Steve stopped shoveling cookies onto a plate long enough to take a bite into a fresh morsel. "Very good," he said, surprised. "Got a lot of...texture though."  
  
Hawk grinned. "Roadblock though so. Thought he'd surprise me once by improving on it." His smile vanished. "I...didn't mean to tear into him the way I did," he said softly. "It's just...this recipe is the only thing I have left from my wife." He tapped his chest. "This and my memories. Never did explain to Roadblock why I was so upset."   
  
"He would have understood if you did," Jaye told him hurriedly, sliding into a seat next to him.   
  
"I know but..." Hawk shook his head. "I couldn't. After she was...gone...I never talked about her with anyone. Until Fury." He scowled. "And that wasn't the Hueah I remembered!"   
  
"Would you like to tell us about the Hueah you do remember," Jaye asked, squeezing his hand.  
  
He absently patted her hand. "It's really the kind of story that should be told with a good snifter of cognac."  
  
"Cognac? Your background's starting to show, Hawk," Jaye teased.   
  
"Would you pour me some, Jaye?" His eyes widened with a boyish entreaty she had never associated with Hawk before. He pressed her hand to his chest. "I'd be grateful."   
  
Steve eyed Hawk in askance as Jaye stared at the General in shock before regaining her composure. And her hand. "I'll...see what I can do."  
  
"Wait a minute," Steve protested, putting the plate in the middle of the table. "Don't you think you've had enough already, Hawk?"  
  
"I haven't had any cognac yet," Hawk replied indignantly.  
  
"Just about the only thing he hasn't had," Low Light muttered, leaning against the fridge.  
  
"What was that," Hawk demanded.  
  
"Nothing, sir," Low Light said blandly.  
  
"Oh, no," Jaye exclaimed loudly.  
  
Hawk lurched out of his chair. With practiced ease, Low Light tipped him back into his chair. "Jaye," Hawk called out. "What is it?"  
  
Jaye took down a clear squat goblet with a sour expression. "This." She flicked the lip of the snifter. A dull *plink* sound emitted from it.   
  
Hawk wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Glass? Can't have cognac in GLASS. Ah, hell with it, any more beer in the fridge?"  
  
"We ran out of the good stuff. You drank the last bottle," Jaye gently reminded Hawk, sitting across from him. "Only thing left is...the 'Piss Water' I think you called it?"   
  
"Oh. Yes. I knew that," Hawk huffed. "Rain check on the story?"  
  
"Anytime, Hawk," she said warmly.  
  
"You're good," Steve whispered to her as he sat between her and Hawk. Just in case.  
  
"Marriage teaches you more than a few things," she whispered back.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS," Fury roared. He stalked into his living room wearing pajama bottoms, eye-patch, and a holster slung over his shoulder. He shoved his pistol back into the holster. "Abernathy! This yer screwy idea of payback?"  
  
"Fury," Hawk beamed cheerfully. He glanced at the wall clock. "You recovered from that tranq quick. Good metabolism."  
  
"I should gut ya fer that," Fury hissed.  
  
Hawk shrugged with his good shoulder. He leaned over, kept steady by Steve's hand. "This IS a much bigger place than mine," Hawk commented. "The living room alone is bigger than my bungalow. Nicer kitchen. How's the jaw?"  
  
Fury stepped into the light, showing a dark bruise across his face. "Just dandy." Fury took a sniff and stepped back. "Yer drunker than a skunk!"  
  
"Director Fury, I apologize," Low Light said. "I've never seen Hawk like this before. If I had known about that tranq gun---"  
  
"You! And you," Fury growled, jabbing a finger at Steve. "Why'd ya bring him HERE? And who're you and why're you along?"  
  
"Lady Jaye, pleased to meet you," she said a shade too brightly. "Low Light was having a little trouble with the General." Jaye sighed. "We don't understand it. He NEVER gets drunk. After Duke's condition took a turn for the worse ...well he just crawled into a couple of bottles and didn't come up for air until...was it about evening, Light?"  
  
"Yeah. Ohio time."  
  
"Ya came here all the way from Ohio? Wait a minute. It's just after midnight. How'd the three of you get ta New York so fast? Rogers, did you---?"  
  
"Oh, I only wish I picked them up," Steve snorted.  
  
"I, um, requisitioned a hovercar," Low Light said admitted awkwardly.  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Well, sir, the General insisted on seeing you. And, well, Jaye was handling him better than I was, so I needed something that could seat three people---"  
  
"YA GOT A HOVERCAR TA CHAUFER A DRUNK?"  
  
"Why not," Steve asked wryly, crunching on a cookie. "Woke the entire Mansion up to get directions to your place."  
  
Fury loomed over the stoic Low Light. "YA WOKE UP THE AVENGERS?"  
  
"Nope. I did," Hawk said defiantly. "Didn't know which window was the Captain's. Process of elimination."  
  
"That's a whole lot of windows he's replacing," Steve sighed.   
  
"I know yer drunk, Abernathy, but are ya NUTS too," Fury demanded.  
  
Hawk started to giggle---GIGGLE! Not a very comforting sound to anyone in that room.  
  
"Ya think this is funny? Ya friggin' idiot, are ya TRYIN' ta get yerself killed?"  
  
Hawk slapped the tabletop, howling with laughter now. For the first time, Fury noticed that Hawk was handcuffed. "What the hell---?"  
  
Low Light shrugged. "He kept demanding that I cuff him. I had to, sir, I was afraid he'd hurt himself if I refused. Then he kept going on about him being a low life traitor, a dead man walking---"  
  
"So to HELL with what the Jugglers know," Hawk declared. "I'm taking a bullet from my country," he announced proudly, thumping his chest. "Ow."  
  
Steve rolled his eyes. "He's a little confused."   
  
"I'm not confused," Hawk said, getting unsteadily to his feet. Low Light hovered just behind him as he lurched his way to Fury. "I'm doing the right thing, Fury. I'm turning myself in."  
  
"WHAT," Fury bellowed.  
  
"Yep. BUT," Hawk said, waggling his finger under the spy's nose. "You're not getting Joe! No, no. I'm promoting Duke and Flint to Brigadier Generals! HA! How do you like THAT? THEY get Joe! You and the Jugglers can BOTH go to Hell!"  
  
"Ya can't DO that, ya pickled turkey," Fury snarled. "They ain't even got Officer's Training!"  
  
"I'm still a General and I can promote whoever I want to whatever I want," Hawk stated loudly. "Or DEmote! In fact, I'm busting you back to Private! Private Fury. Like the sound of that?"  
  
"Please don't mind him. He's been babbling nonsense all night," Jaye told Fury sheepishly.   
  
"All in all," Steve told Fury, "when I realized who our vandal was, I though it best to get him under cover before the J-Brass learned about his little jaunt. Or," he added sourly, "before anybody else's secret got blown."  
  
"Captain America, SHIELD spy, seeing Thor sleep in a furry loincloth." Jaye held her hands up. "All way more information than I ever wanted to know."  
  
"YA FRIGIN' PANSY," Fury screamed, hauling Hawk up by the shirtfront, shaking him hard. "Ya weren't supposed to CRACK, dammit!"  
  
"Put him down," Jaye snapped, getting to her feet. "His stitches---"  
  
"I'll give him stitches," Fury growled. "Naw, better yet---" He dragged the inebriated solider down the hall. "---I'll get him sober first. THEN I'll gut and stitch him!"  
  
"Nick, watch it," Steve yelled, scrambling after him with Low Light in tow. "He's been mixing his drinks all night! Handle him too roughly and he'll probably---"  
  
Hawk threw up all over Fury's feet.  
  
"---blow," Steve finished with a wince.  
  
"AARGH! That's IT!" Fury rounded the corner into the bathroom and tossed Hawk into a huge shower stall. The spy viciously twisted the cold water faucet on full blast. Ice cold water hit the General from four sides.  
  
"Nick, you're going to make him even sicker," Steve hissed, reaching for the faucet.  
  
Fury knocked Steve's hand back. "Then that's the perfect place fer him!"  
  
"Not sick like that, you nit. He's already drunk---"  
  
"That's what the cold water's fer."  
  
"---and he's wounded!"  
  
"My heart bleeds."  
  
Steve gave his friend an exasperated shove and turned off the water. He snatched up the fluffy towels from the rack and shouldered his way past the spy into the stall. Steve carefully propped Hawk up and threw a towel over the younger man's head and shoulders. "C'mon, Hawk. Up and at 'em."  
  
"Don't want to," Hawk mumbled in a surprisingly boyish voice.  
  
"Yes, you do, kid," Steve replied. "Now, c'mon. On your feet!"   
  
"Whoa," Fury suddenly said. He stepped into the shower stall, looking first at Hawk, then at Steve with a strange expression. "Déjà vu."  
  
"What," Steve asked.  
  
Fury scratched his jaw. "Remember that time back in '44, you and me caught my men giving yer sidekick some booze?"  
  
"I remember hitting the roof," Steve said wryly. "The kid wasn't even 18!"  
  
"Hmph. I remember ya more like rainin' down the wrath of God on my Commandos," Fury grinned. "Went pretty easy on the kid though."   
  
Steve snorted. "The dumb kid had a hangover that no punishment could compete with." Steve rubbed down Hawk's hair. "My gosh, I haven't thought about that in years!"   
  
"Me neither." Fury took a towel from Steve and cleaned off his feet. "Ya callin' Hawk 'kid' reminded me."   
  
Steve stopped.   
  
"Well, that and the puke," Fury amended, tossing the towel aside. "And the water."  
  
"I...Yeah, well...when he starts acting like a three star General again, I'll call him 'sir.' If he's going to be acting like a dumb kid, then 'kid' it is."  
  
Fury eyed him. "Yeah. Sure thing."  
  
"Cold," Hawk muttered.  
  
Steve grimaced. "We need to get him out of those wet clothes. Nick?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well," Steve said, gesturing to Hawk.  
  
"...!...No way! I ain't undressing no guy!"  
  
"Don't be a pansy, Nick."  
  
"Do it yerself!"  
  
"It's your place."  
  
"So?"  
  
"It's your responsibility as a host."  
  
"Did I invite any of ya? NO! Ya brought him, change him yerself!"  
  
"YOU'RE the one who soaked him. YOU change him."  
  
"Now who's the pansy?"  
  
"Chicken Colonel."  
  
"Yellow bellied winghead."  
  
"Oh, brother," Jaye spat, poking her head into the stall. "Of all the homophobic---look, both of you, get out. I'LL change him---"  
  
"NO YOU'RE NOT," they both yelled.  
  
Low Light peered around Jaye's shoulder and sighed. "I'll do it," he said resignedly, pulling out the cuff keys. "Used to do this for my Dad when he got drunk. Jaye, could you get Hawk's bag from the car?"   
  
"No problem," she said, disappearing out the door.  
  
"Captain, could you at least get Hawk to sit up on the toilet seat," Low Light asked.  
  
"Sure thing, son." Steve scooped Hawk up like he weighed nothing.  
  
"Director Fury, could we get more towels? And ointments and bandages? I'll need to re-tape his wounds."  
  
"This look like a hospital ta ya, Agent," Fury rumbled menacingly.  
  
"Nick," Steve said in a warning voice.  
  
Fury gritted his teeth. "Fine! Get the bum cleaned up, but then I want the lot of ya outta here! Got it," Fury growled.  
  
"Got it." Steve brightened. "You're a prince, Nick."  
  
"Shaddup, Rogers."  
  
Twenty minutes later, Low Light was lifting the hovercar off of the SHIELD Head's balcony with Lady Jaye in the shotgun seat, and Steve with the prone Hawk in the back. "Everyone wave bye to Nick," Steve instructed through smiling teeth.  
  
"He looks pissed," Low Light commented.  
  
"Well, Hawk did make a dent in his liquor cabinet," Jaye told him through her bared teeth as she waved. "And he hit the good stuff too; Glenrothes, Knappogue, Reserva de la Familia---"  
  
"Don't make that sound admirable, Lady," Steve sang under his breath.  
  
"It's good taste," Jaye protested.  
  
"Not in one sitting," Steve countered.  
  
"Cloaking...now." Low Light looked over his shoulder. "OK, sir. It's safe."  
  
Hawk sat up and held his head in his hand. "Cuffs. V-8. Vitamins. Now."  
  
Jaye passed back a warm can of V-8 juice and a sandwich bag full of vitamins as Steve unlocked the handcuffs around Hawk's wrists. Hawk downed the pills and drained the can in practically one gulp and a grimace. "Now give me the water and don't try to cut me off this time, you two."  
  
"No, sir," Jaye smirked, passing back two litter-bottles of water. "We'll let you drink as much of this as you like."  
  
"Good." Hawk uncapped the first bottle. "Tell me you did it, Jaye. I don't want to think I was that big of an ass for nothing." He poured the water down his throat.  
  
She arched an eyebrow. "Respectfully, sir, I'm not who thought up THAT particular piece of tactics."  
  
Hawk shook the empty bottle at her. "You needed a distraction for five minutes, the Captain and I gave you the granddaddy of all distractions. Now. Did you or did you not make the switch?"  
  
"I'm the Jay Bird in this coop, aren't I?" She fished out a tiny screw from her pocket. "Piece of cake. Switched the real screw in his computer's casing with the transmitter before the old birds finished their walk down memory lane."  
  
"Thank God," Hawk whooshed.  
  
"Still don't see why we couldn't have just planted the gizmo while Fury was tranqed," Low Light grumbled. "Would have saved Hawk's liver a shock."  
  
"Nick is a paranoid son of a gun," Steve reminded him. "When he woke up I'll bet he went over the apartment with a fine toothed comb before making his grand entrance. He would have found it. The fact that nothing outside of the kitchen was touched ought to convince him that we were just humoring Hawk while he went on a binge."  
  
"Though it was a real one for a while there," Low Light admitted.   
  
"When my grandfather realized I was serious about becoming a solider, he dragged me off to the bars after high school," Hawk told them. "Made sure I knew how to hold my liquor before I shipped off to West Point. "  
  
"That makes him a saint in my book, sir," Low Light told him fervently. "Man, I can't tell you how happy I was when you grabbed that towel away!"  
  
"Low Light, as fond as I am of you, solider, I REALLY wasn't about to let you strip me to the skin. Which reminds me. Jaye. Don't ever volunteer to undress me again. I'm too old to be dodging jealous husbands." He took another sip of water.  
  
"Well, someone had to volunteer," she said, green eyes sparkling mischievously. "Besides, if Flint caught you oozing over my hand like that, you'd still have to run."  
  
The water bottle froze on Hawk's lips. He lowered it slowly. "Ah...yes. Lady Jaye, contact Duke. Let him know the transmitter's in place."  
  
"Yes, sir. Warbirds to Wardog. Come in, Wardog."  
  
The reply was immediate. "Wardog, here! About time," Duke snapped. "What's the sit-rep?"  
  
"Nest raid successful," Jaye told him. "Is Webworm ready to monitor?"  
  
Mainframe's voice piped up. "Webworm here. Ready to go."  
  
"Remember," Jaye said. "Just monitor the signal, don't access."  
  
"No worries there. Whatever you guys are up to, I really don't want to know!"  
  
"Jaye, the laptop," Hawk hissed.  
  
"Already open and following the trail, sir," Jaye told him. "Fury is checking out Duke's medical status...confirmed he's in ICU for fractures to the skull...now the nightwatch report at Fort Wright-Patterson...confirmed that we left at 1803, Central Standard Time. Now he's bouncing to...the Avengers Mansion security cameras."  
  
"WHAT?" Steve leaned forward to look at the screen. "We spent days beefing up security, and he just waltzed into our system?"  
  
"Just confirmed that we were there throwing rocks at windows 2029," Jaye reported. "Anybody want to see the video?"  
  
Steve's eyes narrowed. "There's not supposed to be any cameras from that angle," he said flatly. "Nick and I need to have a very long talk about this."  
  
"You may want to talk about this more," Jaye told him, frowning. "He's wiping the videos. All of them."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
Jaye nodded. "As far as the Avenger on monitor duty will be concerned, a freak power surge will have 'randomly' blanked the images from tonight."  
  
"'Power surge' is it," Steve growled.   
  
"He's covering our tails," Hawk said suddenly. "Why?"   
  
"Because you weren't supposed to crack, but you did," Jaye hazarded.   
  
"Hmmm," Hawk rumbled. "What did Fury mean by that?" He shook his head vigorously, rubbing his temple. "Stay sharp for me, Jaye."  
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
Steve tapped Hawk's good shoulder with the back of his hand. "You OK," he asked softly.  
  
Hawk flicked a glance at his intent Joes before giving Steve a miserable look  
  
Steve leaned over the concentrating Jaye to grab another V-8.  
  
"Jackpot," she yelled abruptly. "Fury's contacting someone in the SHIELD Helicarrier."  
  
"Warbirds to Webworm," Hawk said into his com. "Let us know if we're about to get chomped. Until then, we're on radio silence."  
  
"Yes, sir. Webworm out."  
  
"Turn up the volume," Hawk ordered, popping the top off the V-8 and leaning forward with the Captain to look at the screen.   
  
"Moment of truth," Jaye said. "Cross your fingers."  
  
The image of a beautiful blonde haired woman with hooded blue eyes and a hard mouth appeared on the screen. "Fury," she greeted.   
  
Fury's disembodied voice grated over the speakers. "Got a couple of visitors tonight, Carter. Yer boyfriend and some new military buddies of his. Can ya guess which outfit they're from?"  
  
Sharon Carter scowled. "GI Joe?"  
  
"Got it in one. Agent 38, a Lady Jaye, and Abernathy himself."  
  
"That's not a combination I'm comfortable with," Carter said. "Lady Jaye's one of their Intel Ops. She's been trying to contact me about the Black Bullet Squads. What did they want?"  
  
"Well," Fury drawled, "APPARENTLY Abernathy was drunk off his ass and wanted ta turn himself in."  
  
Carter's brow arched. "Say again?"  
  
"Ya heard right. Even ordered 38 ta cuff him. If this is a scam, it's a good one. Kid emptied my good hooch and left me a bunch of burnt cookies."  
  
"Kid? Cookies? What are you talking about?"  
  
"How the hell should I know," Fury griped. "They didn't touch nothin' or take nothin' or even tried ta find out about nothin'. Acted just like this was a frat party."   
  
"Which is it," Carter demanded. "Scam or truth?"  
  
"I don't know," Fury said casually.   
  
"Fury, dammit, this isn't funny," she snapped. "If Abernathy's really lost it---"  
  
"IF Abernathy's really lost it," Fury hissed, "then I'm coming down on ya like a ton of bricks, Carter. I just learned the Joe's Second in Command is in ICU and ain't lookin' too good thanks ta one of the Squads. He's like Lafayette ta Abernathy's Washington. Easy ta see why Abernathy would crack."  
  
"I'M not the one who told him his girl was a VC spy," she spat. "If he's really cracked and you're looking for someone to blame, look in the mirror!"  
  
"We needed him shook enough ta co-operate," Fury growled. "Yer the one who said yer methods weren't workin'. I coulda got him ta cut a deal ta keep Joe if certain trigger happy Agents didn't---"  
  
"ALRIGHT! I get it! I screwed up! I should have been omniscient and kept tabs on the thousands of Agents here. Happy?"  
  
"No I ain't! Did those yahoos report in yet?"  
  
She glowered. "No."  
  
A long silence.  
  
"Two Black Bullet Squads in one day, Carter," Fury asked quietly. "That's a record. Congratulations."  
  
"If you want the big chair back, just say so," Carter said flatly. "If not, then get off my case!"  
  
"If ya don't feel up ta handling it---"  
  
"If you haven't noticed, I'm handling this just as well as you are," she said defiantly. "If you really think you can do better, just tell me and I'm gone!"  
  
"Dammit, woman---!"  
  
"Go to Hell, Fury!"  
  
"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! Dammit, ya know I need ya on this---"  
  
"Then act like it," she snapped. "You said the Jugglers would lower their guard and slip up if they though you were still on leave and you were right! Don't blame ME for being so VERY right!"   
  
More silence.  
  
"Fine," Fury said ungraciously.  
  
"Thank you," she said shrewly. "So now what?"   
  
"We keep goin'," Fury told her.  
  
"But you said---"  
  
"Abernathy's our only link ta the rest of the Jugglers," Fury said. "They've tried fer him once, they'll try again. We just gotta make sure our bait doesn't wiggle off the hook by doin' somethin' dumb, like dyin' or turnin' himself in."  
  
"These guys are good, Fury. They've run roughshod over us and we STILL don't have any solid evidence or leads."  
  
"Naw, we have one," Fury said softly. "More than anythin', the Jugglers want Abernathy dead. Long as he's alive, that's all they'll obsess about. Just like we planned."  
  
"The plan's working too good," Carter told him acidly.  
  
"Yeah," he sighed. "Black Bullets? Those boys REALLY got a mad on fer the kid. But at least it gives us time ta make sure they don't hack inta anything more important."  
  
"And if Abernathy's really stopped fighting? What then," she asked.  
  
Silence filled the air. "Naw," Fury finally said. "I don't believe it. Abernathy's a fighter. He ain't rollin' over fer no one. Even if that frat boy act was fer real, he'll sober up and bounce back. 'Specially since yer star-spangled boyfriend's there ta give him an earful when he comes ta."  
  
"But what if he's really stopped fighting," Carter pressed.  
  
"Then we're screwed," Fury said matter-of-factly. "We need more time ta figure out how the hell the Jugglers are doin' all this stuff in SHIELD. If the kid doesn't raise a ruckus and draw attention ta himself, we ain't getting' that time."   
  
"WHY do you keep calling a three star General 'KID'," Carter finally asked.   
  
"Just somethin' Steve called him."  
  
That brought Carter up short. "Steve called him 'kid'?"   
  
"Yep. Ya know...I've known Steve a long time. Don't think I've ever seen him take ta anyone so quick before."  
  
"Great, just great," she sighed. "Like there's not enough complications in this operation."  
  
"Shouldn't have gotten him involved. Now, if Abernathy dies---"  
  
"I know, I know. Steve'll never talk to us again."  
  
"'Cause it'll be our fault. Can you take that, Carter?"  
  
"Guess I'll have to," she said roughly. "Not like there's a lot of choice, is there?"  
  
"Sure there is. We can run a witch hunt through the Pentagon."  
  
"Like McCarthy tried," she asked archly.  
  
"Probably be just as effective," he agreed.  
  
"Which is to say, not," she said.  
  
"Ya got it."  
  
"You do wonders for my love life, you know that, Fury?"  
  
"I try."  
  
"Screw you," she said tiredly. "Carter out."  
  
Silence filled the car.  
  
"That's it," Jaye said quietly. "Fury's shut down his computer."   
  
"Captain," Hawk said softly.   
  
"Hawk, it doesn't matter," Steve interrupted. "I'm glad you called. More so now than ever." Steve looked at him, ashamed. "Think of my help as damage control on behalf of the woman I love."  
  
"So...what now," Low Light asked.  
  
Hawk rubbed his eyes. "Like Fury said, we keep going."  
  
"Should we tell SHIELD about Cobra," Jaye asked.  
  
The General shook his head. "No. No, we're going to let Fury and Carter play their little Spy vs. Spy game. I might have to---" A huge yawn escaped from his mouth. "Excuse me," Hawk said, blinking rapidly.  
  
Jaye looked at him, concerned. "Hawk, are we still going to Washington in the morning?"  
  
"Absolutely," he said firmly. "I need to see certain people's reactions when I walk in, alive and kicking."  
  
"Then why don't you get some sleep, sir," Jaye said. "I can close up with Mainframe and Duke for you."  
  
Hawk was about to protest when another yawn stopped him. "Maybe you're right," he admitted. "Don't forget to destroy the laptop's hard drive."  
  
"Hey, who's the Jay Bird in this coop," she asked with a smile.   
  
"You are, Lady," he smiled back.   
  
"Get some shut eye, sir. I've got everything under control."   
  
Hawk settled down and closed his eyes.  
  
"Hawk," Steve asked softly.  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Your Hueah...you loved her a lot, didn't you?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
"Did you like her too?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
A small pause. "You were lucky, kid."  
  
Before Hawk could ponder that statement, sleep rose to claim him, lulling him with the scent of cookies and catching him with delicate flour-covered hands. "Hueah..."  
  
Steve looked at the sleeping Hawk enviously. "You were lucky." 


	6. Dark Eagles

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*Found the U.S. Code under--http://www4.law.cornell.edu/uscode/. 

* I've incorporated aspects of the cartoon into this story. ________________________________________________________________________

Within a dimly lit room in the Pentagon, a group of seven men sat in seven of the eight chairs surrounding a circular steel table. Emblazoned at the center of the table was a black eagle heraldically displayed, symbolizing military might and boldness. Some could argue that it was indeed a fitting symbol for those present. Every man in that room, all brilliant and ambitious, wore dress uniforms of green, brown, blue, or white glittering with ribbons and medals testifying their long services to their country.

Holding pride of place on each of these men's shoulder were no less than four meticulously polished silver stars.

"Our circle is not balanced," a stout General in blue observed dispassionately, pointing at the empty chair with his cigar.

"I have reports saying that Abernathy was hustled off Fort Wright-Patterson to a safe house last night," a gray-haired General in green supplied.

"Location?"

"Unknown."

"Abernathy's condition," a blonde Admiral asked.

"Eye witnesses say walking wounded, but that's about all," the gray-haired General said with dissatisfaction. "Nothing specific." 

"Was the SHIELD Agent with him?"

"Yes."

"So," a ruddy Marine General said, curious. "Then Abernathy doesn't know yet?"

"I can't say for sure," the gray-haired General said, frowning. "If I discovered someone was feeding intel to an outside agency, I'd definitely gullet the man. But we're talking about Abernathy, who's as sentimental as an old woman. Who can say?"

"Well, he's dropped off the radar," a dark-skinned Admiral pointed out. "If YOU knew SHIELD was sending assassins after you, wouldn't you disappear?"

"Once again, Admiral, I'd like to point out that we're talking about Abernathy," the gray-haired General said patiently. "Who can say?"

"It doesn't matter," the stout General rumbled. "He wasn't here in the Belt last night. THAT is the only thing that matters. In those terms, the first part of the operation was a success."

"Very true," the gray-haired General nodded, his craggy brow relaxing. "And, if these intel reports are correct, the first step for the second part of the operation has already been laid."

The Air Force General perked up. "His Second in Command?"

"ICU," the gray-haired General said, satisfied.

"Perfect."

"And his Third," a thin Marine General asked.

"Nothing so elaborate is needed with him." The gray-haired General smiled. "In fact, Abernathy has done half of our work already, and has given us resources for the rest."

"What about his First Shirt," the Air Force General asked.

The gray-haired General now snorted. "That white-trash non-com? Please. I won't even need to sully myself. He'll take care of our work all by himself if he's left alone."

"You better be sure, General," the stout man said. 

"General," the gray-haired man began.

Whatever he was going to say died as the door slid opened and in walked another man in dress greens. Clean jaw set, shoulders squared, and both arms swinging freely at his sides, the robust man took the remaining chair and tossed his hat onto the table. 

Like the other men, his uniform was also a glittering testament of his long service to their country.

Unlike anyone else in the room, holding pride of place on each shoulder were just three silver stars.

The seven stared at the newcomer with the look of larger birds sizing up a smaller, unwanted intruder. Outranked by everyone in that room, the newcomer should have at least showed SOME deference.

Instead the brazen Hawk granted the Dark Eagles the smug courtesy granted to…equals. Barely.

But not for much longer, the seven vowed silently. 

I'm still alive, you bastards, Hawk thought at them. Take a good look and choke!

"Generals. Admirals," he said out loud in greetings, nodding curtly. "My apologizes for being late."

"Our circle is balanced," the stout General said flatly.

"General 'Tomahawk,'" the gray-haired General greeted after a slight pause, his voice slightly mocking. "Good of you to join us. We had heard there was some trouble at Fort Wright-Patterson."

"We heard you'd been shot," the Air Force General interjected.

Not for the first time, Hawk thanked God for Lady Jaye's make-up skills. No wound was evident, no weakness shown. "Just nicked," Hawk lied smoothly. "I've hurt myself worse shaving."

"Ah. How…fortunate. And your Second in Command?"

Hawk carefully wiped away any trace of emotion from his face. "He'll pull through," he said a shade too firmly to believe. The longer people thought Duke was critically injured, the better. It gave the Second more time to discreetly gather and sort through the Intel from the Joe spies within the Dreadnok and Cobra ranks, as well as tapping his own wells of information in Black Ops.

"That's good to hear," the stout General said, taking a huge puff on a cigar (And damned if that wasn't a genuine Havana rolled stogie, Hawk thought wryly). 

"So," the blonde Admiral said. "I take it that Warrant Officer of yours is running things while you're here?"

Hawk examined that question from all sides before answering. "Yes. Flint IS my Third in Command, after all."

"You're so very lax about rank, Abernathy. We just weren't sure if you intended to stick to your so-called Chain of Command."

"Do you know who tried to kill you," the gray-haired General asked before Hawk could respond to the Admiral.

Hawk shook his head. "Not yet, not for sure, but my troops are investigating several possibilities."

"Well, if you need any assistance, don't hesitate to ask. But tell us, how was your trip to Fort Killington," the gray-haired General asked. "Did you find it adequate to your needs?"

"My inspection was educational," Hawk said carefully. "But I intend to weigh more options before making a choice."

"As you should, as you should," the stout General boomed. "Wright-Patterson is an excellent base for normal operations, but I think recent events have shown you and your men---and women---need a more secure location. It was only supposed to be a temporary headquarters, after all."

"If I had been given the budget to create a new base or restore an decommissioned one," Hawk began through gritted teeth.

"Tut, tut," the gray-haired General said amicably, waving a hand. "Spending is tight for everyone here. Sacrifices need to be made for the new Department of Homeland Security. You'll just have to make do like the rest of us. Oh, speaking of which…" He slid a clipboard across the table to Hawk.

Hawk picked up the clipboard and scanned the first page.

He stopped.

He re-read it more slowly.

"What is this," Hawk hissed.

"Why, a memo," the gray-haired General said. "The Secretary of Defense couldn't get in touch with you last night, so I promised to give this to you as soon as I could. The basic gist of it is that under the U.S. Code, Title 10, Subtitle A, Part I, Chapter 18, Section 375, the Secretary is enforcing the ban against military personnel in search, seizure, and arrest in civilian law enforcement. He feels this will give DHS the chance to stand strong on their own two feet."

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MINDS," Hawk roared. "They aren't trained to tackle anything like Cobra yet!"

"Now, now, General," the gray haired General said, holding up his hands. "It wasn't us who issued this memo. The Secretary himself has advised against using regular military troops to deal with restless citizens. No one wants another Waco. A softer touch is required."

"'Restless citizens?' SOFT TOUCH?!" Hawk's fists came slamming down on the table. "WE ARE TALKING ABOUT COBRA!"

"Actually, we're talking about the women in GI Joe," the gray-haired General said coolly.

That threw Hawk badly. "WHAT?"

"Well the Secretary is not insensitive to the needs of this infant Department. He recognizes that DHS needs advisors familiar with Cobra and the Dreadnoks. I think you'll find that on the second---no, third page. Fourth paragraph, I believe. Everyone agrees that the transfer is ideal for DHS, and the best place for your women," he said. "To be truthful, I agree with him. Honestly, General 'Tomahawk,' how much longer will you endanger these poor girls just so you can drum up support from the Liberals? Putting WOMEN in frontline firefights---" 

The clipboard cracked under Hawk's hands. "Those WOMEN have more combat experience than anyone I'm looking at," he stated in a deceptively soft voice. "These WOMEN aren't just crucial field commanders and frontliners, but most also double up as essential support personnel." His eyes glittered dangerously. "But I'm not telling you anything you haven't already thought of."

"Now, General---"

"You are NOT taking my troops away from me," Hawk snapped. "If you were sincere in helping DHS, you'd take advisors from the ranks of my retired and disabled Joes! They're just dying to lend the country their services in anyway possible!" He slammed his fist on the table. "And you'd keep your damned hands OFF of my women!"

"Once again, General, it wasn't us who issued this memo," the gray-haired General said pleasantly. "But don't think of it as losing your women. Try to think of the women being assigned to DHS as your voice at home while you and your men take care of things in Europe. That IS where Cobra is most active, are they not? The Secretary believes you should think about stationing your men there, instead of lagging half a world away." He nodded at the papers still attached to the ruined clipboard. "I believe you'll find some European base recommendations on page five." 

Hawk's eyes narrowed. "You're trying to kick us out of the country."

The gray-haired General blinked innocently. "Don't be absurd. The Secretary is just trying to put your men in a strategic location."

Hawk planted his fists on the table and leaned forward. "We'd be a foreign strike force looking to police dissidents in established allied territory. Under the International Laws of Armed Conflict, we'd need permission for a host Unit to SNEEZE for us written in triplicate, never mind going after Cobra ourselves."

"Now that's an exaggeration," the gray-haired General chided. 

"Not by much," Hawk growled. 

"May I remind you that this is the Secretary of Defense's idea," the gray-haired General said sternly. "And under Title 10 of the U.S. Code, Subtitle A, Part I, Chapter 6, Section 162, the Secretary is within his full rights to do this without consulting you."

"That may be true." Hawk ripped the pages from the clipboard. "But according to Section 164 (b1) under the same Chapter of the U.S. Code, the Secretary can't implement any action without approval from the President." He crumpled the papers into a tight ball. "And under Section 163(b2C) of the same Chapter, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is responsible for supporting my discussions to the Secretary in the handling of my own troops!" He squashed the ball on the table with a thud. "And you can be sure that I'll tell the three of them EXACTLY what I think of these so-called plans."

"You would be that much closer to Afghanistan," the stout General pointed out.

That stopped Hawk cold. 

"I remember you made quite the impassioned speech before the President," the stout General continued. "You barged right into the Oval Office with your jacket still smoking from the Pentagon fire. A very dramatic sight." He took a puff on his cigar. "I understand you lost one of your men."

Now Hawk's face was truly wiped of emotion. His stitched shoulder twitched violently as his muscles clenched. 

"You wanted to gather your precious Joes right then and there and go after al-Queda." The stout man looked at Hawk intently. "I know you still want a piece of those murdering hi-jacking bastards. You and your men are, after all, supposed to be the world's elite anti-terrorist strike force. You may think we're the Devil's own servants, General, but we want these maniacs crushed too. This country cannot be attacked with such impunity."

"No," Hawk said softly. "It can't." He looked dead into the stout man's eyes. "Which is why GI Joe is staying based in the States, intact."

The stout General puffed on his cigar. "You have a duty to this country, Abernathy." 

"Don't lecture a West Point Grad about the meaning of duty, General! In fact, it seems that I'm the only one who hasn't forgotten it," Hawk said. "That day in the Oval Office, the President gave me my standing orders. Cobra." He swept them all with a raptor fierce glare. "Generals. Admirals. The whole of our Armed Forces is bent on wiping al-Qaida completely out. We all know it's only a matter of time before we're successful. But it's inevitable that some of those bastards will slip through our net, and that means other terrorists will gain new recruits from al-Qaida's broken ranks. Cobra is the largest to date and has already come too close to striking at America's heart." He slammed his fist against the table and pointed viciously at the ceiling. "Do you want this building attacked AGAIN? GI Joe is a rapid mobile strike unit, we go where we're needed, but we NEED to be based right here in the States AND NO WHERE ELSE!" 

"It doesn't matter what you think," the stout General rumbled. "The fact remains that with Section 375 in effect, your troops have no jurisdiction against Cobra within the States. Outside of your women, your Joes have no purpose within the borders."

"You should read Section 375 more carefully, General," Hawk told him. "All my troops need is lawful authorization. And according to Section 382, concerning emergency situations due to weapons of mass destruction, such as Cobra possesses," Hawk leaned forward, eyes narrowing, "we HAVE that authorization."

"The President won't see it that way. He was given that memo last night as well," the gray-haired General said. 

"Getting a memo and accepting it are two very different things, General," Hawk snapped, gripping the table until his knuckles turned white. "The President ordered me to track down and destroy Cobra. I intend to carry that order out to the fullest of my abilities." His brown eyes glittered dangerously. "And I warn you. 'Gentlemen.' Screw with my team any further and I will run a warpath right down these ranks." 

"Of course we won't. After all, we wouldn't want to go the way of Admiral George Lattimer, now would we," the blonde Admiral mocked loudly. 

The other six men grew very, very still.

Hawk's eyes grew cold. "George turned his coat and his ship over to Cobra. He was Court Marshaled for high treason and found guilty," he said in a steady voice. "After the USS Montana was sunk, he didn't want to live. He insisted upon the ultimate penalty. I doubt you 'gentlemen' will want the same." 

"No we wouldn't," the blonde Admiral sneered. "But I'm sure you'll be there to volunteer a hollow point bullet in your .45 despite our wishes."

Hawk drew himself up stiffly. "I was the one who brought George in. I wasn't going to make anyone else do it. It was my duty. But George was my friend. The hollow point was a courtesy. For you…I'd use a lead ball and musket." 

The Admiral smiled broadly. "I'll remember that, Abernathy." 

Hawk's eyes narrowed and his gun hand twitched. "And I'll remember too." He pulled on his hat. "Admirals. Generals. Good day."

The seven men watched in silence as Hawk left the room.

"You idiot squid," the gray haired General hissed. 

"He can't suspect," the blonde Admiral said dismissively.

"I'm not so confident," the dark-skinned Admiral told his fellow Naval Officer. "Why did you have to mention Lattimer? After he talks to the Secretary, things are bound to start clicking into place."

"He's too caught up in trying to find out who's trying to kill him, trying to deal with SHIELD blackmailing him, and trying to run his unit the way he sees fit," the blond Admiral said defensively. "What's he going to notice?"

"He's going to notice how scared the Secretary is of him," the ruddy Marine General spat. "And he's going to suddenly wonder why!"

"A standing army of elite soldiers fanatically devoted to one disgruntled man in the States is enough to make anyone paranoid. Abernathy's precious good opinion of himself kept him blind to that fear he invoked in others," the gray-haired General told the blonde Admiral exasperatedly. "Now that you SPECIFICALLY bring up a convicted traitor's name---"

"Enough," the stout General said sharply. "It's done. All we can do now is move up the schedual. General. His Command Chain must be destroyed as soon as possible. If you can, make the Second a vegetable. That's much more traumatic than outright death. If you truly feel that the First Shirt will do more damage left alone, fine. And I understand that he is especially close to the two senior women in Joe? See if you can use that, put some kind of spin on it."

"I was going to," the gray-haired General told him. "Abernathy's Third in Command is married to one of them. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak." 

"Good thought."

"What about those Drednoks," the Air Force General asked. "Are they ready to plant some more information in the SHIELD databanks so quickly?"

The stout General smiled slowly. "Absolutely. When Director Carter looks into this matter further, she'll find more than enough reason to send her assassins, her Black Bullet Squad, herself. For real this time. Gentlemen. Imagine a man who believes that the dead slut he knocked up thirty years ago is about to put a crack in a life long career. One by one, his supporters begin to turn against him. When he fights the orders removing the female troops from him, for their own good, people will talk. He is off balance, he won't know who to trust, and will rely heavily on his Command Chain. And when we knock that support from him---" he flicked the ash from his cigar. "---will anyone be surprised if he snaps? Who knows what such a man is capable of? Even, perhaps, treason?" 

"And if he doesn't snap," the thin Marine General asked.

"Oh, he won't snap," the stout General said. "But that doesn't mean the Dreadnoks can't MAKE it look as if he's snapped."

"He'll be destroyed," the blonde Admiral said smugly.

"IF he doesn't smarten up," the gray-haired General warned. "No thanks to you."

"I said, enough," the stout General said firmly. "Abernathy is our target. Do not lose sight of that." He took a long puff on his cigar as the men around the table nodded their agreement. "It's time we made that jumped up mountain cowboy remember that his precious West Point Academy isn't only famous for the heroes its produced." He put a hand over the Dark Eagle. "But also the traitor who commanded it centuries ago."

"The West Point traitors of General Benedict Arnold and General Clayton Abernathy," the blonde Admiral said with heavy satisfaction. 

The stout General smiled tightly. "It's time Abernathy remembers what the REAL Jugglers are capable of."


	7. Hooded

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*Thank you so much for all the encouraging reviews ^__^ It helps me a lot to hear what you all think. Case in point. Matt of Ravenclaw? Um, funny you should ask about Falcon…

_______________________________________________________________________

The sleek black rental car drove the short distance from the Pentagon to Arlington National Cemetery in deep silence. In the front, Steve and Lady Jaye exchanged worried glances. "Sir," Jaye finally said. "We're almost there."

In the back seat, free of his jacket and hat, Hawk looked up from icing his shoulder and just nodded. He let the silence once again smother any further conversation.

Steve and Jaye exchanged another look, the furrows in their brows deepening.

While Low Light rested in the home of Retired General "Iron-Butt" Austin, the Joe's former CO, Steve and Jaye had donned their dress greens and accompanied Hawk to the Pentagon. Wanting to keep Steve's true ID hidden for as long as possible, he had asked the older man to guard the car while Jaye acted as his aide for the day. 

That had been six hours ago.

As Steve chaffed at the inaction, Jaye found herself barred from more meetings and corridors than her lack of rank could explain away. Her Intelligence Clearance should have given her free run of the building. 

Something was going on. 

Even more telling to her was Hawk's brooding. That was always a bad sign. She'd have felt much better if the General was growling, shouting, even kicking or hitting things. 

The man nursing his shoulder in the back was scaring her with his silence.

Steve threw the car into park and cut the engine. "Hawk? We're here."

Hawk nodded and put the ice pack down. A stiff rust-brown stain marred the clean shirt.

Jaye reached into the glove compartment and fished out the sling. "Hawk, your stitches---"

"Leave it, Jaye." Hawk's first words since announcing their destination. Flat and uncaring. She couldn't take it anymore. 

"Fine," she snapped, throwing the sling back into the glove compartment. "Be a stubborn old fool then!" She shoved open the door, got out, and slammed it shut as hard as she could.

She waited for the reprimand.

Hawk just struggled into his jacket without comment. He didn't even say anything when Steve got out and opened the door for him.

Not a word.

Her heart sank as she and Steve fell into step behind Hawk. She wasn't even fazed by Steve's own disapproving look upon her. 

Suddenly, unbidden, the memory of Hawk's lifeblood spilt over her shoulder rose up, the nightmare feel of his spirit hovering for release under her hands washed over her skin again.

Lady Jaye shivered.

"Hey." Two strong hands gripped her shoulders, returning her to the present. Steve's blue eyes looked at her worriedly as Hawk obliviously kept walking on without them. "What's gotten into you," Steve asked softly, gathering her under his arm, prompting her to keep walking. 

"Borovia," she murmured, rubbing her hands over her arms.

"Excuse me?"

"Just…remembering a mission. A very bad mission."

"Oh." 

"I just wish he'd talk to us," Jaye said, exasperated. "This is worse than when he was building up to tell us about Hueah. At least he talked to us. Eventually." She looked up at Steve, green eyes troubled. "Call me fey, but I don't think we can wait too long this time." 

As it turned out, they didn't have to.

Hawk stopped under a young cherry tree at the top of one of the sloping hills. "Jaye," he said, his voice soft and even toned. "I know you want to pay your respects too…but I'd appreciate it if you stayed here." He looked at her with mild eyes. "I'd like to talk to the Captain in private."

Lady Jaye searched his eyes, looking for any hints of redness or tears or…anything.

Hawk, misunderstanding, told her, "Don't worry. I'm not letting my emotions rule me this time."

Jaye shivered again. Hawk's eyes had become dark and hooded, like Fury, Carter…and, she sadly realized, Duke. Too many secrets, too many compromises, too many sacrifices…too many manipulations.

The memory of Hawk's hovering spirit under her hands flashed again.

"Clayton," she said sharply, startling him. "Clay, don't play this game on their terms. You'll lose yourself." She stepped into his personal space. "And you simply cannot do that on my watch. Not here of all places. Do you think the boys would want that?"

Hawk blinked, a flash of guilt in his eyes…and Jaye gave a sigh of relief at the sight. "No," he said softly. "They wouldn't." Hawk gently touched her chin. "But as long as I have my guiding stars, I'll never lose my way."

"What?"

"It'll be OK, Alison," Hawk told her, using her real name. "Do you trust me?"

She gave an unlady-like snort. "That's a stupid question. You know I do." 

"Then please, stay here. Check-in with Flint, let him know where we are. Tell him I want to double the guard on our dummy Duke in ICU, and a guard with him and BeachHead at all times."

"Hawk?"

"Just a hunch. Let me be paranoid."

"They won't like having guards," she warned him.

"Tough luck. If they don't like it, they can peel potatoes in the stockade until I get back." He gave a sudden feral grin. "Too bad my personnel clerk is here instead of at base. Otherwise, I might worry about transfers." He turned to face the Pentagon, hazy in the distance. "Didn't think about that, did you? HA!" He shook a fist at it. "You pencil pushing pukes aren't the only ones who can foul things up in red tape!"

Impulsively, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. 

"Well," Hawk said. A surprising blush colored his cheeks as he held her. "What was that for?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Just because." She gave him a gentle shove. "Go. Give my love to the boys."

"I will. Captain? Will you join me?"

Steve hesitated for a second before nodding.

Lady Jaye folded her legs beneath her as she watched the two men walk on without her. She leaned against the young tree and lifted her com to her lips. "Lady Jaye to base."

"Flint here," came the prompt reply. "What's your status?"

She smiled and pressed her cheek against her com, enjoying the feel of Flint's voice as much as the sound. "We just got out of the Pentagon. We're at Arlington now. Hawk wanted to say 'Hi' to the boys."

There was a pause. "Anything else to report?"

"He wants to double the guard on 'Duke.'" She took a deep breath. "And he wants a guard on you and BeachHead too."

A low, irritated growl drifted up. 

"Orders," she said simply.

A hand covered the transmitter on the other side of the com, but Jaye could still hear the Warrant Officer curse. "Anything else," he finally asked in a clipped tone.

"Not yet. Hawk's being pretty secretive. Officially, that's all I have to report for now."

When Flint spoke again, his voice dropped the professional edge, becoming deeper, tender. "And unofficially?"

She sighed, letting the last of the pent up emotional tension drain out of her. "I miss you, Dashiell," she said, calling her husband by his real name.

"Alison? Honey, what's wrong?"

"Just talk to me, Dash. I just need to hear the sound of your voice."

A throaty chuckle rumbled from the com. "Is that all you need?" 

She reddened. "Dash, I'm in the middle of a cemetery---"

"Kinky," he mumured huskily.

"Dash! Have you no decency, man?"

"I thought that was one of the things you loved about me," he said, his voice as intimate as a caress, making her shiver for a much more pleasant reason. 

"Oh, wow," a strange woman's voice sighed over the com. "Lucky gal."

Jaye gasped.

"FIREWALL," Flint hollered over the com. "What did I say about hacking into the commlines!"

"You're right, sir," Mainframe's voice said hastily. "It won't happen again."

"MAINFRAME!"

"Busted," another man's voice laughed.

"Shut up, Daemon!"

Jaye moaned and covered her head with her arms as her husband chased the eavesdroppers away.

"Ummm…so," Flint finally said. "How about those Red Soxs?"

Further down the vale, Hawk knelt before a white headstone and took off his hat. "Lifeline must be having fits," he murmured.

Steve knelt next to him, black beret in hand. "Why?"

Hawk nodded to the fresh yellow rose that laid ontop of the white marble. "Duke's nearby."

"Is that a signal?"

Hawk shook his head. "No, nothing so cloak and dagger. If he's in the area, Duke always makes time to visit this one grave, no matter what."

Steve read the name on the headstone out loud. "Captain Vincent R. Falcone." His eyes darkened as he read the date of death. "September 11, 2001. The Pentagon?"

Hawk nodded.

"Was Duke there?"

"No. I was." Hawk bowed his head. "I was the one who told Duke."

"They were close?"

Hawk nodded. "Brothers."

Steve flinched. "Another family." He reached out and touched the carved name, as if trying to burn the name into his memory.

Hawk watched him for a second before dropping his eyes. "It wasn't your fault," he told him.

"I couldn't stop it," Steve said softly. "Any of it." Steve looked at him, and Hawk saw the full weight of his age look back at him. "This wasn't like Pearl Harbor, Hawk. I was RIGHT THERE this time. I was in New York, only a block away from the Towers and I couldn't do a thing to stop any of it. All I could do was dig and hope that someone, anyone was still…the next one HAD to still be…" He bowed his head and swallowed hard. "Nick tried to snap me out of it right afterwards by trying to throw me on a plane to the Middle East…but…I COULDN'T LEAVE. Not while there was a chance someone was still alive under all that rubble." He rocked back on his heels and sat, plucking at the grass. "Nick understood and backed off. He even ran interference for me, made sure I had space."

Hawk was silent for a beat. "Did you find anyone," Hawk asked. "Anyone alive?"

Steve stiffened. He shook his head.

Hawk touched the headstone. "Neither did I," he admitted.

Sad understanding dawned in Steve's eyes. "You're the one who found him."

Hawk nodded. "I kept thinking, if I could only get him out of the smoke…but he was already…" He sighed as he rocked back and just sat in the grass. "I…I never know what to say to family, to let them know…" He rubbed his forehead. "I contacted Duke…" He plucked at the grass, unable to look up. "I was sure Duke was going to hit me, hate me…I wouldn't have blamed him. I wish he did."

"Hit you or hate you?"

"Both. Either." Hawk shook his head. "He did neither." He tossed the grass to the side. "He actually thanked me for bringing his brother out. He could have blamed me for any number of reasons. For not knowing, for not getting to Falcon in time, for not letting him avenge his brother's death against al-Quida." Hawk shook his head again. "Duke never did." 

"We tried our best, kid," Steve said softly. "That was all anyone could do that day. It wasn't your fault either."

"I ordered Duke to take time off, to be with his family," Hawk said. "I told him I'd understand if he didn't want to come back." He smiled. "That's when he finally got mad at me."

"What did he say?"

"He said he HAD to come back, for Falcon's sake. It's what his brother would have wanted." Hawk chuckled. "I hope that womanizing, slick talking, hot-shot Green Beret appreciates the irony, wherever he is. He spent his entire tour with Joe trying to live up to his brother's reputation."

"And now Duke is trying honor his brother's memory," Steve concluded. 

Hawk nodded. 

Steve crossed himself and touched the headstone again. "Post tenebras spero lucem."

Hawk's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"It's Latin. 'After darkness I hope for light.'" Steve smiled. "Another man named Falcon taught me that. It's the motto of falconers, symbolic of removing the hood from a bird. After that day…I needed to hear something like that." He tapped his chest. "It gave me hope. It felt like the right thing to say here."

Hawk smiled sadly. "Thank you. It is."

Then Steve's eyes took on a shrewd look. "But we're not down here to council each other through survivor's guilt are we?"

The smile slid away from Hawk's face. "No. We're not."

More silence passed between them. Steve stretched out his legs and leaned back onto his hands, trying to catch Hawk's eye. 

Hawk steadfastly refused to look at Steve.

"Out with it," Steve ordered at last. "You're not the type of fella to be beating around the bush and I'm not the type to tolerate it. Whatever it is, get it off your chest."

"Captain America…" Hawk sighed. "Sir."

Steve sat up straight. "This doesn't sound good."

"No, sir."

Steve's blue eye narrowed. "Out with it," he repeated.

Hawk ran a hand through his cropped hair. "Sir…these past few days, you've proven yourself a better friend to me than a lot of people I've known. Not many men would side against a friend of many decades AND the woman they love for the sake of what's right."

"It's my way," Steve said. "My duty."

"Duty," Hawk repeated. "Some people would do anything for the sake of duty, and damn whatever was right." 

"That way of thinking is a trap," Steve said.

Hawk bowed his head. "One I almost fell into." He finally looked at Steve square in the eyes. "Things in the Pentagon are going badly. The Jugglers are arranging it so that GI Joe can't operate within the States. Soon, they're going to take the women, ALL the women, off of the Joe team. Supposedly to act as advisors for DHS, but that is so much bull, I could fertilize the whole of Iowa with piles to spare. We'll be crippled. To add insult to injury, they've convinced the Secretary of Defense to base us in Europe."

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "I think," he said carefully, "that you've wiggled on that hook long enough for Nick and Sharon. We've tried it their way, its just making things worse. This has to stop."

"Don't you think I've tried," Hawk asked bitterly. "I talked to the Secretary of Defense, I talked with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They…" Hawk gripped his hair and gave a bark of incredulous laughter. "They're blackmailing me. For my loyalty."

Steve did a double take. "What?"

"You heard me. Blackmailed. Again." 

"Hueah?"

Hawk nodded.

"For your LOYALTY?"

Hawk nodded again.

"OF ALL THE STUPID, IDIOTIC---!" Steve jumped to his feet. "I've had enough of this sneaking around! We're going back there, and this time I'm walking in with you---"

"Sit down, Captain," Hawk snapped. "We're not done."

Steve dropped back down. "Make it quick, my patience is just about out."

Hawk winced. "That wasn't what I needed to hear."

"I told you before, I'm the type of solider that destroys evil as soon as I can reach it." He tugged on his black beret. "And when it comes to upholding this nation's honor, I am not a patient man."

"We're not talking about the nation's honor, we're talking about mine!"

Steve pointed at Hawk. "You are a General Officer of this country's Army. Your honor is a reflection of it's own."

"Then we're in trouble," Hawk retorted. "Because I haven't exactly been acting honorably toward the Living Symbol of this nation, namely you!"

"What are you talking about?"

Hawk glared at the ground. "I was so determined to save GI Joe I was ready t-to pull a Juggler on you." He took a deep breath. "Manipulate you to get you to go along with something I have in mind."

Steve just looked at him, his face unreadable.

Hawk hunched his shoulders. "You're disappointed in me."

"Yeah, kid, I am."

Hawk flinched as if he'd been kicked.

Steve crossed his arms. "So why didn't you?"

Hawk glanced over his shoulder. Lady Jaye waved down at them. Hawk lifted his hand. "My guiding star," he murmured. A small twinkle lit his eye as he touched the headstone. "Though to tell you the truth, Falcon would have appreciated my moxy, trying to string you along."

"Not amused, kid."

Hawk grimaced. "Sorry, sir." Hawk took a deep breath and looked Steve straight in the eye. "I AM sorry, sir." 

The silence stretched between them, neither looking away for an instant.

Finally, a smile cracked across the older man's face.

"Oy," Steve chuckled. "If only I had a camera. You look like what the Avengers must mean about me being too sincere for my own good." 

Nonplused, Hawk wasn't sure whether to be hurt or relieved.

Steve leaned his hands against his thighs. "But seriously, son, I'm not as naive as people think. I read your file. I know you've done things, used people. In a lot of ways, you and Nick are very much alike."

"Your pardon, Captain, but that's doesn't make me feel better."

"Wasn't supposed to. Just making an observation."

"Oh great."

"The difference between you two is…somewhere along the line, Nick abandoned honor for the sake of expediency. Despite what you may think of yourself, you haven't. You still hold to the code of West Point. Duty. Honor. Country. It's why I helped you. It's why I'm still helping you." He leaned forward, eyes intent. "So what do you have in mind?"

Hawk squirmed. "You're not going to like it. Truthfully, I don't even have the right to ask this of you."

"If I asked you to do the same, would you?"

Hawk looked at him steadily, seriously. "Yes."

"Then ask."

Hawk nodded. 

Then he told the Captain.

**"WHAT?!"**

Lady Jaye jerked her head up and saw Captain America jump to his feet. Furiously, he paced back and forth, hands clenched at his sides. Even from that distance, she could see him grinding his teeth together.

And Hawk just sat there, looking for all the world like a cadet before a drillmaster.

"Flint, I have to go," Jaye said hastily.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know." 

"Is it Hawk? Is he in trouble?"

She bit her lip. "Not…like you mean. Flint, I'm sorry, I need to sign off."

"Dammit! Fine, but I want a report later! Flint out."

She was already bolting down the hill when the Captain suddenly swung around with a LOOK that practically burned through the air. The next thing she knew, she had her back pressed up against the tree again. She felt frozen to the spot. Captain America pinned her with his gaze for a moment longer, his body language screaming for her to butt out. Only when he looked away did she realize she had forgotten to breathe.

Inhaling deeply, she watched in horrified fascination as Captain America verbally tore into Hawk. She couldn't make out what was being said, but the emotions were all too clear.

Captain America was less than happy.

And Hawk, quietly, respectfully, was agitating him further.

Finally, after a few tense moments when it looked as if the Captain was going to strike Hawk, he stopped and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders sagged.

Captain America nodded.

Hawk's shoulders heaved in relief. 

Captain America turned on his heel and marched straight up the hill. Hawk followed.

"Steve?" Jaye reached out to the older man.

Captain America blindly walked right past her, his face haggard and suddenly showing far too much of his true age.

"Steve?"

"Leave him alone, Jaye," Hawk told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "He just agreed to do something very hard."

"Hawk, what's going on," she demanded.

He sighed. "Politically, we're being outmaneuvered." He looked the retreating man regretfully. "I just asked the Captain to handle one of my contingency plans. He's not happy with it."

"What---"

Hawk cut her off. "I just called Duke. He's going to sneak in and meet us at the White House. We need to talk to the President. I need his support, Duke's…" He squeezed her shoulder. "…and I need yours."

"Hawk?"

He offered her his arm. "Let's go. Hopefully, the Captain's calmed down some."

She slipped her hand over his arm, regarding him carefully. "You…seem a lot more relaxed."

He patted her hand and smiled. "Things are going to be alright."

They walked a few steps before he stopped, looking around. "Post tenebras spero lucem," he said softly to himself.

"Sir?"

"I forget how beautiful it is here," he told her. He turned his face to the bright afternoon sun. "So peaceful."

She shivered. "It'll be a long time before you get to rest here," she said fiercely. "You have too much to do."

A rare summer wind blew down to caress their skin, filling the silence with the rustling of the trees.

"Come on, Jaye. Let's go." 


	8. Cuckooed

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*I am SO sorry that it has taken me so long to update! My muse needed a jump start. MUCH thanks to my bro for the jumper cables and boost!

_________________________________________________________________________

Lifeline waited until he actually saw Hawk stretch out on the cot and close his eyes. Then, quietly, the medic slipped out of the door marked HOSPITAL STAFF ONLY and softly pushed it shut. He looked around briefly. "Where's Flint and Kamakura?" 

Low Light, leaning against the doorframe, jerked his thumb down the hall. "Nature called." He nodded at the closed door. "Hawk asleep?"

"Well, he's lying down at any rate."

The sniper's posture relaxed slightly. "Thanks, buddy. He needs a little shut eye."

"He's not a young man anymore, Light. What he needs is to go home and get some real sleep, not to mention some good iron and protein in his stomach." The gentle medic scowled at the sniper. "What have you guys been doing in Washington? His shoulder was a mess."

Low Light held up both hands. "Hey. I just started my shift. As far as I know, Hawk, Lady Jaye, and the new Greenshirt's been bouncing between meetings and riling up the paper pushers. That's it."

"Sure it is," Lifeline sighed. "And I suppose if you told me the whole story, you'd have to kill me."

Low Light pushed up his goggles to look at the medic with eyes as gray as tombstones. "Hope not," he said, his whispery voice emotionless. "Good roommates are hard to come by. The next guy might get on my nerves and then I'd have to kill him too."

Lifeline rolled his eyes. "Ha ha. Anyone ever tell you that you've got an awfully macabre sense of humor?"

A small smile cracked the stony face. "Took you this long to notice?"

The medic shook his head. Then a sly grin spread across his face. "Maybe I should warn her about you."

The sniper's face went totally blank. "Her?"

"Didn't you know? You've got an admirer."

"ME?"

"Yep. She knocked on the door this morning and dropped off a present."

"What?" Low Light blinked. "Who was it?"

Lifeline stuck his hands in his pockets and began to rock from heels to toes. "Oh, I don't know if I should tell you. That would be encouraging fraternization. And after what those reporters were insinuating about Hawk and our girls---"

Low Light scowled. "Too bad Flint chased those rats off base before we got back. I would have loved a good hunt."

Lifeline actually smiled wider. "Cut them some slack, Light. They gave the girls a good long laugh. I mean, this is HAWK we're talking about. You should have seen Jinx when she and Scarlet were asked about the General's 'improper behavior.' Once she started laughing, Scarlet couldn't hold in. It was a good long time before they could stop." He chuckled. "It was definitely a statement those reporters weren't expecting." He sobered slightly. "But those questions about transferring all the women out of GI Joe…" He shook his head. "THAT didn't go over well." He looked at Low Light expectantly.

Low Light shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you, buddy. When Flint came to pick us up at the airstrip and debriefed us, Hawk had Jaye and the Captain go down to her office to look into it. That was an hour ago. Haven't heard from her since."

"Guess it doesn't matter," Lifeline sighed. "Either way, the girls win."

Low Light cocked his head. "Oh?"

"Sure. They'll either stay on the team," Lifeline explained, "or they'll be in DHS, safe. Well, safer at any rate." He grimaced. "But a transfer like that is going to be a strain on couples." He gave Low Light an apologetic look. "Maybe I really shouldn't tell you who your admirer is. This isn't the best time to start a relationship."

"Yeah. You're right. Timing's way off." Low Light crossed his arms and turtled into his kevlar jacket. "All of my dates are disasters anyways."

"Hey, they couldn't have ALL been disasters," Lifeline said reassuringly.

Low Light just gave him a bland look.

Lifeline winced. "Really that bad? Well, maybe if---"

The sniper cut him off with a gesture, his posture alert. "Heads up."

Lifeline turned around. 

A young man masked in green with a blocky set of red tattoos printed on his bare forearm stormed up to them. It was Kamakura.

He was alone.

"Where's Flint," the three men demanded of each other at once.

Silence.

"Oh boy," Low Light sighed, pulling down his goggles.

Flint exited the elevator and began to head towards the doors of the Wright-Patterson Medical Center's ICU floor.

"Excuse me, Officer."

The Warrant Officer turned to look at the plump, gray haired nurse frowning at him from behind her counter. "Yes, ma'am? Can I help you?"

She tapped a sign nailed to the front of the counter with her pen. "Number one, visits to this floor can only be made by members of the patient's family---"

"Well, I'm like family," he began.

"---number two," she went on, "it's after visiting hours now. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I just need to check in on Duke," Flint said. 

"I'm sorry, we don't have anyone by the name of 'Duke' listed here."

"Look under Conrad S. Hauser." 

"No. I won't," she said firmly, crossing her arms. "Because you're leaving."

"Look, lady," he said, trying to be reasonable. "My CO wants me to make sure our guy's being treated right, so he told me to see how he's doing. OK?"

She held out a hand. "Let's see some orders, mister."

"Oh, for crying out loud," he spat, marching right past the desk and grabbing the handles to the big double doors.

They didn't budge.

"Buzz me in," Flint snapped.

"No."

"Lady---"

"That's Nurse Appleton, Officer."

"OK. Fine. Nurse Appleton. Please," he said through grit teeth. "Buzz me in."

"No."

The elevator dinged, dislodging a small team of nurses, orderlies and one doctor shoving a gurney carrying an enormously rotund man. Flint jumped out of the way, pressing himself against the counter. The doctor snapped his fingers. "Nurse. The door."

"Right away, Dr. Hill." Nurse Appleton reached under her desk and buzzed open the door.

The doors opened and the medical staff clamored through. 

"AHA," Flint exclaimed, making a break for the door.

A hand like a steel vise clamped down on his wrist and yanked him back. "Not so fast, young man."

The door swung shut.

"Dammit," Flint spat. He twisted out of the hold and rubbed his wrist. "Since when did weightlifting become a part of nursing school?"

"When we learned that we had to deal with stubborn wardogs like you," she retorted, glaring at him over her spectacles. "Officer. Go. Home. Before I really DO call your CO." 

The elevator bell dinged again. This time Lifeline stepped out with an irritated Kamakura in tow. Lifeline took one look at the situation and shook his head. "I told you to wait for me," he gently rebuked the Warrant Officer. 

The Greenshirt ninja stormed up to Flint. "I was assigned to be your guard, sir. General Tomahawk and the Silent Master won't be happy if something happens to you."

Flint grinned at him humorlessly. "Then you'll just have to learn to keep up with me, won't you, ninja-boy?"

Lifeline walked over and gave the nurse a peck on the cheek. "Evening, Emma. You're here late."

"You're the one who's late, Edwin," she chided warmly.

"Couldn't be helped," he said. "My unit's CO needed some patching up and a few shots."

"Well, I just wanted to wait for your evening visit," she said. She glared at Flint. "And a good thing I did too."

Lifeline grinned. "Flint's OK, Emma. He and Kamakura are just tagging along while I check Duke over."

"Well," she said, giving Flint a doubtful look. "If YOU say it's OK, Edwin. You're the doctor." She picked up her purse and buzzed the door open. "Sally, dear," she called to the back room. "Don't forget about these visitors!"

"I won't," the muffled reply came. "Good night!"

Kamakura held the door open. Lifeline smiled and waved his thanks to the departing nurse. Flint glowered at the nurse one last time before following the medic. "What a battleaxe," he muttered.

"Yes she is," Lifeline said admiringly. "She's one of the reasons I don't feel so bad about having 'Duke' up here instead of," he pointed down, indicating their own Infirmary underground. "Actually, I was thinking of asking Hawk to steal her---"

Flint whipped his head around. "Oh, no," he moaned.

"I like her," Kamakura remarked. "She's formidable."

"Shut up," Flint growled. 

The door next to Duke's room opened and a group of relieved nurses and orderlies left, giving a masked man clad all in black and bristling with weapons a wide berth. He scrutinized the medical staff and waved at the Joes from his post in front of Duke's door.

"Snake-Eyes," Flint hailed. "Get your student off my back for a few minutes. He's been driving me nuts."

Kamakura bowed to Snake-Eyes. "I beg to differ with that statement, Master." He shot Flint a resentful look. "I'M not the one being difficult."

The mute ninja cocked his head at Flint. He raised his hands and began to sign, Do not let those reporters bother you so much.

Flint shot Snake-Eyes an irritated look. "Easy for you to say. YOU didn't have to deal with them." Flint jabbed a finger at Kamakura. "Stay out here and keep your Master company." Without waiting for a response, Flint stormed through the door to 'Duke's' room.

Kamakura's eyes narrowed. He was set to march right in after Flint but Snake-Eyes stopped him, signing, Stay. He gave Lifeline a look. I believe Flint and Lifeline have things to discuss. 

"Looks like you're right," Lifeline nodded with a sigh. "Wish me luck." 

He followed Flint inside.

Lifeline found Flint sprawled in a chair next to the bed, looking broodingly at 'Duke.' 

"Snake-Eyes is right, you know," Lifeline said softly. "Don't let those reporters get to you." 

"Bad enough they start up rumors about our women getting transferred out of Joe 'for their own good,'" Flint said mockingly, "rumors I can't confirm or deny. They also start THAT garbage up!"

"Lady Jaye will straighten that transfer rumor out," Lifeline said with as much confidence as he could muster. He smiled. "And as for that garbage…if you take a step a back and look at it, you've got to admit it's pretty funny." 

"Funny? FUNNY?" Flint sprang to his feet and began to pace the room. "Do you know how many Viagra jokes I've had to shut down? How many goons are doing KP because they had the balls to come up to me and ask when the next orgy is? Or if I've got extra pictures of Hawk and Jaye---" He couldn't finish. He kicked the chair. "Forgive me if I don't find the humor."

Lifeline's smile slipped away. "Flint…you don't actually BELIEVE that garbage, do you?"

"Of course not," he snapped too quickly. At the disbelieving look on Lifeline's face, Flint stopped and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Maybe a little," he admitted.

"Flint," Lifeline sighed, shaking his head.

"I KNOW, it's STUPID," Flint said. He continued to pace. "Hawk gave her away at our wedding for crying out loud! It's just…when those damned reporters asked if he ever had 'improper relations' with the Joe women…"

"You started to doubt," Lifeline stated. "Why?"

Flint dropped back into the chair. "Before the team was re-instated…well, Hawk didn't live all that far away from us. Jaye and I would invite him over for dinner at least once a month…whenever I'd be away on a mission, he'd stop in to check on her, see if she was OK…" He pulled off his beret and scrubbed his hair. "I KNOW he was just being a-a friend…but those reporters and their damned questions got me wondering…" 

Lifeline just shook his head.

Flint looked up at him, his dark eyes full of self-reproach. "I'm pulling an Othello, aren't I? Getting jealous over nothing."

Lifeline's eyebrows shot up. "Well, yes. But at least you're not denying it, or keeping it bottled up to fester like you used to."

A soft smile touched Flint's lips. "Marriage teaches you a few things."

"Like trust," the medic hazarded.

A chuckle rolled out of the Flint's throat. "Yeah." A lop-sided grin stretched across his face and he slapped his thigh. "Screw those reporters! They don't know what they're talking about."

"Absolutely," Lifeline beamed.

Flint tapped the arm of the chair rapidly. "Now if I only knew what's taking her so long in her office with that Greenshirt."

The medic threw up his hands.

"Lifeline."

The medic looked at the Third. "Yes?"

Flint flashed Lifeline a grateful smile. "Thanks."

Lifeline grinned. "Just following the General's orders." He spread out his arms. "But seriously, if you ever need an ear…"

"Thanks, pal." Flint jerked a thumb at the fake Duke. "Usually that's golden boy's line." Flint shook his head at the decoy. "Amazing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was the real deal." He rubbed his arms. "Kinda gives me the creeps."

"Gee thanks," Lifeline said dryly, checking on the decoy's readings. "That's just what Mainframe and I were striving for."

"It's not a synthoid, is it," Flint demanded.

"No. It's a hand-me down from SHIELD, an old Life Model Decoy. Duke said a contact in SHIELD, ah, 'requisitioned' it for him. Mainframe and I worked to improve it a little. It's not sophisticated, but it doesn't have to be. It just needs to lay there and mimic a human's involuntary responses, like breathing, and react to stimuli like this." Lifeline pulled back the sheet and hit the decoy's knee. It jerked. He grinned proudly at Flint. "See? We even got everything set up to Duke's bio-rhythms. Brainwaves, heart rate, everything." 

"'Appearances to save, his only care; So things seem right, no matter what they are,'" Flint quoted softly.

"Shakespeare," Lifeline asked.

"Charles Churchill," Flint corrected. "Whatever Hawk has Duke doing, I hope it's worth it."

Lifeline frowned. "I hope so too." He nodded at the decoy. "It won't take much to land Duke in that bed for real."

"Oh, just great."

A heavy double thud from outside pulled the Warrant Officer to his feet. He motioned the medic back as he reached for his service pistol.

The door swung open and Hawk stepped in wearing green fatigues and his aviator's jacket. He shut the door firmly.

"Sir!" Flint and Lifeline snapped to attention and saluted smartly.

Hawk returned the gesture. "At ease, men."

"Couldn't you sleep, sir," Lifeline asked, concerned. 

"I wasn't as tired as I thought," Hawk assured him.

"Didn't expect to see you up here, sir," Flint said. "I thought you were going to join Jaye in her office as soon as you woke up."

"Just visiting first," Hawk told him. 

Lifeline looked askance of him. "At least you're moving your shoulder around better now," he commented. "I guess the drugs kicked in." He frowned and shook a pen at him. "But you should really wear that sling, sir. You promised. And it'll save your shoulder a lot of wear and tear. You won't have to get it re-stitched everyday."

"I'll keep that in mind." 

"Hey, the cleaners did a bang up job on your jacket, Hawk," Flint said admiringly. "I didn't think they could save it. Can't even tell where the bloodstains were."

"Yes, well, I only use the best," Hawk said. "Speaking of which, how's Duke?"

"We were just talking about him," Flint said. "Frankly, we're both a little worried, sir."

"Well…you shouldn't worry about Duke anymore," Hawk told him gently. "He's going to be all right soon. Unlike me."

Flint's brow knotted in confusion. "Sir?"

Lifeline frowned. "Sir, what are you talking about?"

"I'm about to lose everything," Hawk told them matter-of-factly. "So I'm saying good-bye…and I'm sorry."

Flint shook his head, trying to clear his ears. "WHAT? Wait. Sir---Clay, you're talking about going AWOL! You CANNOT go AWOL---"

Hawk interrupted him by whipping out a bizarre looking gun from his jacket pocket. Flint and Lifeline froze in shock. Hawk's next words were dangerously soft. "With you out of the way, maybe Lady Jaye will finally go away with me like she keeps promising." 

The words hit Flint like a sledgehammer blow.

Flint felt his blood freeze, his heart stop. The world around him disappeared into a roar of red. Distantly, he felt himself move, heard Lifeline call his name as if from a far away place. Frantic arms wrapped themselves around his waist, trying to hold him back. Flint felt himself roar in rage.

From his other pocket, Hawk pulled out a small gas mask. It clung to his face like a leech.

Lifeline's eyes widened. "Hawk, NO!" He shoved Flint away and leapt for the gun.

Too little, too late. 

Hawk fired, discharging a high volume of gas that enveloped Flint and Lifeline. They both dropped to the ground, coughing and gagging. Their bodies began to jerk in seizures.

Hawk walked over to 'Duke.' "Good-bye, Duke," he said softly, replacing the spent gas cartridge. He pointed the gun at 'Duke's' face. 

He fired.

The machines monitoring 'Duke' began to beep crazily.

Flint desperately tried to say something. Lifeline made one last grab at Hawk. 

Their eyes rolled back.

They became very still.

Hawk pocketed his gun and removed the wrist-coms from Flint and Lifeline. He opened the door and bent over the unconscious Kamakura to remove his wrist-com. Hawk looked down on the unmoving Snake-Eyes. 

A slow smile spread over his face. 

"Perfect." 

Dressed in fresh green fatigues with his bandages replaced and his arm in a sling, Hawk pelted up the stairwell in hastily laced boots with Low Light hot on his heels. They ignored the flashing red lights and the muted trill of the fire alarm, dodging the rush of people fleeing in the opposite direction. Hawk snarled into his wrist-com as he fought his way up. "I don't care how, Mainframe, get this hospital sealed!"

"A lot of people have already evacuated the building," Mainframe told him.

"BeachHead," Hawk barked.

"Here, sir."

"Get the area surrounding the hospital cordoned off. Co-ordinate with the base's Military Police. Don't forget the underground levels. Stalker, Gun-Ho. I want a drag net going. We're looking for Cobras and Dreadnoks, people. Keep sharp." Hawk flattened himself against the wall as an unbreakable tide of people poured past him. "Jinx," he said in a softer tone of voice. 

The normally cheerful woman's voice sounded flat. "I'm here, Hawk."

"I know you're worried about your clansmen, Jinx---"

"Sir, we're Arashikage ninjas," she told him. "I won't dishonor them by falling apart."

"Good girl. I need you to keep guarding BeachHead. Be paranoid. Stay with him at all times. Don't let him out of your sight. If that means going into the john with him, do it!"

"Yes, sir."

"And no arguments, BeachHead."

"No, sir." 

A small break in the crowd and Hawk and Low Light were back fighting the tide again. Hawk's voice softened again. "Scarlet, Lady Jaye---"

"Here, sir," Jaye said, her Gaelic voice clipped but steady.

"We're both here, sir," Scarlett said thickly. "Just tell us what you want."

"Get together with Spirit and Psyche-Out. I want the four of you to gather a team and sweep this hospital, floor by floor. That son of a bitch might still be here."

"Oh, I hope so," Scarlet hissed.

"If possible, I want this snake alive," Hawk warned her. "But if it's a choice between him or a life, or letting him go scott free, I'll settle for a body."

"Sir," Mainframe said, "the Base Commander's not too happy. He said the fire alarm was set off to evacuate---"

"I will deal with him, just follow your orders, Joe," Hawk snapped. "If the General has a real problem, tell him to call me directly!"

"But he---"

"Listen up, people, and listen good," Hawk snarled. "You either get your orders FROM me or you get them THROUGH me. NO WAY ELSE! AM I CLEAR?!"

"YES, SIR!"

"NOW MOVE IT!"

The crowd finally reached its end and the two Joes shot up the stairwell two and three steps at a time.

Hawk kicked the door to the ICU floor wide open. The Military Police, medical staff, and Hazardous Waste Material Disposal experts cluttering the waiting area stopped what they were doing. 

"Not good," Low Light murmured.

"Who's in charge," Hawk demanded. 

A white-haired MP Major approached them. "I'm Major Kenner. General Tomahawk?" He saluted at Hawk's nod. "I was the first one to get here after Dr. Hill put out the call. He was tending to another patient on the floor and…well, he found your men. He and some other physicians are looking after them now. They said it was a lucky thing your Joes were attacked in the ICU ward. They didn't have far to go for treatment." 

"What exactly happened here," Hawk asked intently. "All I've been told is that five of my boys have been taken out."

"Nerve gas attack," the Major said grimly. 

The blood drained from Hawk's face.

Kenner looked grim. "I've seen worse cases…but I won't lie, General. They each got a face-full of the stuff. They're in bad shape."

Hawk took a deep breath. "How bad?"

A non-discript man in a white coat pushed open the ICU doors.

"There's the man to answer that," the Major said. "That's Dr. Hill." 

"Thank you, Major." Hawk and Low Light strode up to the doctor. "I'm General Tomahawk from the GI Joe team. Those are my men in there," Hawk said curtly. "What's their condition?"

The Doctor saluted. "Well, sir, we've stabilized them, for now. We won't know how extensive the damage is for a few more hours." 

"Dammit, Life," Low Light said, his dry voice almost inaudible. 

Hawk looked at the sniper's drawn face and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Our men need to stay up here," Hawk told the doctor. "With Lifeline down, there's no one qualified to care for them in our medical facilities down below."

"I wouldn't recommend moving them anyways, sir," the doctor informed him. "It's still touch and go. But…"

"But what," Hawk snapped.

"Your man Hauser," the doctor said, his voice hesitant. 

"Duke? What about him?"

"He…he was already suffering from complications from that head wound…General, I'm sorry, but…I'm afraid we're not reading any brain activity. We have him on full life-support now. Sir…if he has any family…I'll need to know what they want me to do."

Hawk paled even further. "I'll take care of it," he whispered. 

"If there's anything else I can do…?"

Hawk closed his eyes, and nodded. "Snake-Eyes and Kamakura. Let them keep their masks on. It…it makes them feel less vulnerable. And Flint has a wedding band hanging on his dog-tag chain. If you could put it on his finger…" 

"Of course. I'll make them comfortable. Is there anything I can do for Dr. Steen?"

"Lifeline? Yes." Hawk looked at him with redden eyes shining with unshed tears. "Don't let anyone die."

Dr. Hill nodded. "We'll try. I'll let you know when they're stabilized enough to receive visitors, sir." He turned back to the door. "Nurse?"

The teary-eyed young night nurse broke off from giving her statement to an MP. She buzzed the Doctor in.

Hawk sank into a chair. "Major Kenner." 

The MP commander walked over. "Yes, sir?"

"My unit will need to co-ordinate with yours in order to catch this bastard."

"Of course, sir. I'll radio in to my CO and give him a sit-rep. In the meantime, my orders are to stay here and keep this floor secured."

"I'll be sending up a team to give you a hand," Hawk said.

"Thank you, sir."

"What do we do until then, sir," Low Light asked.

"The only thing we can do, solider," Hawk told him, closing his eyes. "We pray."

The Major went to the nurse. "Are you OK, miss?"

"Yes," she sniffed. "I just want to go home, if that's alright?"

"We'll see," he said, steering her into the back room. "Why don't you get your bag? I just need to search it. You understand."

She nodded. Obediently, she got her gym bag.

He opened it, shoving aside text books and notepads.

At the bottom, under sweaty gym clothes, was a brown leather aviator's jacket.

His voice dropped. "Is this all he gave you to ditch?"

She nodded.

"Burn it. Quick." He scrawled out a note. "Here's your pass if the Joes give you trouble, but I wouldn't depend on it. Better hurry. And remember," he said, gripping her hand a shade too tightly, "you don't want to screw this up. The Jugglers will be…upset if you do."

She jerked back her hand and scowled at him, stuffing the jacket back in her bag. "Just as long as they keep their promises, I won't forget who pays the bills. I do my job."

"That's all that they ask."

*Note: OTHELLO is a tragic Shakespeare play about a brilliant solider destroyed by jealousy.


	9. Mourning Song

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*Once again, I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to update! I hope the next chapters make up for the time^_^ The next chapter will be up in a few more days, I promise!

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There were no privacy curtains in this room. For the sake of security BeachHead had them all taken down, giving everyone a clear, unobstructed view of the room's occupants. Five beds stuck out from the walls like spokes from a wheel, the residents of four were covered under a clear plastic oxygen tent. The steady beeping of the machines, eerily in sync with each other, sounded far too loud in the ward. 

Scratching out a heavy counterpoint at the end of the ward was the full life support machine breathing for the very still fifth 'man.'

Hawk watched in silence as Elise Hauser Falcone kissed 'Duke's' sallow cheek, resting her forehead against his temple. Her face---so much like her son's!---crumpled in pain as she tried to hold back her tears. She pulled back, entwining her fingers with her 'son's.' She pressed his hand to her heart and nodded to Dr. Hill.

Dr. Hill nodded his understanding and deactivated the life-support machine hooked up to 'Duke.'

'Duke's' chest rose once, fell once…and was still.

The machines flatlined, their steady beepings reduced to a long, droning whine.

From her beloved Snake-Eyes' bedside, Scarlet bowed her head and crossed herself, letting the tears for her dear friend fall down her face.

Steve respectfully removed his Greenshirt helmet. Low Light took off his cap and Mainframe pushed back his hood.

Stalker stared hard at 'Duke,' as if willing his heart to beat, his lungs to fill with air.

No one said anything for two minutes…five minutes…ten…

Finally the doctor lifted his clipboard and spoke in a deep, clear official voice as he recorded 'Duke's' time of death…and the cause.

Stalker squeezed shut his eyes. With a heavy hand, he removed his beret.

Mrs. Falcone let out a loud sob and buried her face in her 'son's' hand.

Hawk stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Mrs. Falcone's shoulder. He opened his mouth, helplessly trying to find the proper words to say to her…

She looked up.

Hawk froze.

The fury blazing from her green eyes burned all his words of sympathy to ash.

"MURDERER," she screamed. Mrs. Falcone released her 'son's' limp hand and slapped Hawk hard across the face. "You killed my boys! Monster!" She beat against Hawk's chest with open hands, half-clawing at him in her grief. "You were supposed to keep him safe," she cried.

Hawk tried to envelop her in a hug with his unslinged arm. "Mrs. Falcone---"

She shoved him away. "Don't you touch me," she spat. "Don't you ever come near my family again!" She threw herself against her 'son's' still body and wept.

Hawk could feel the eyes of his Joes upon him. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. He caught Scarlet's eye and tilted his head towards the grieving mother. 

Scarlet nodded and went to kneel next to Mrs. Falcone, her voice a low soothing murmur of comfort. 

"Dr. Hill," Hawk said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "Dr. Hill. May I have your permission to move Duke's body to the GI Joe Infirmary, to wait for proper transport home in the morning?"

"Of course, sir," the doctor said sympathetically. "I'll take care of the paper work."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Stalker remained behind to watch the other Joes still holding onto life. Low Light walked at point as an honor guard, followed by Hawk and the gurney holding 'Duke' being pushed by Mainframe and Steve. Scarlet gathered the unresisting Mrs. Falcone into her arms and helped the older woman walk behind her 'son's' body.

GI Joes and Regular Military troops alike all stood respectfully aside as the procession made their way to the GI Joe Infirmary.

Once inside the Infirmary, the procession kept walking, taking elevators and ramps until they made their round about way to Mainframe's Workshop. Firewall and Daemon, the Joe's reformed civilian hackers, waited for them with a table that resembled an autopsy slab prepped with instruments, tools, cables and various electrical equipment laid neatly around it. 

Daemon gave Mainframe and Hawk a thumbs up. "Ready, boss."

"Mainframe, get me Duke on a secured channel first," Hawk snapped. "Firewall, Daemon, do it. That decoy is the only accessible eyewitness we have. I want to know if anything, ANYTHING is recorded in its memory banks. Sights, sounds, I don't care what. Strip it down to its last microchip if you have to, get me some data!" He turned until he partly faced Scarlet and the woman in her arms. "Lady Jaye."

Scarlet kept an arm over the shoulders of the other woman as Elise Falcone reached up and peeled away her face, revealing the more familiar features of Lady Jaye. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you to stay here and try to help them sort through the data."

"Yes, sir."

Hawk's face felt stiff as he said, "Excellent performance, Lady Jaye. I doubt the real Mrs. Falcone would have reacted any differently."

Jaye bit her lip. "Thank you, sir," she whispered.

"Sir," Mainframe said. "I've got Duke."

Hawk nodded. "Duke, are you in place?"

"Yes, sir," the Second said over a speaker. "I'm meeting with some of the Greenshirt covert ops within the hour."

"Good," Hawk said curtly. "All of you, listen up. We believe this new mystery attacker instigated that attempt on my life yesterday. The only problem is that we have no proof. He covered his tracks using patsies yesterday, half of whom we know are dead, the other half are believed to be dead as well." His jaw clenched. "Tonight he slipped up. There are no patsies to take his fall this time. Duke is following a lead. You Joes are trying to dig through the decoy for evidence. Unfortunately, in order to get the decoy away from the Wright-Patterson Medical Staff without a lot of prompt and uncomfortable questions, we had to fake its death." Hawk swept the Joes in the room with a fierce raptor glare. "We're on a timetable, people. It won't take longer than dawn before certain people realize that Duke's mother was never really here. Meaning we have until dawn before those same people realize that Duke, whom this attack was most likely aimed at, is still very much alive and kicking. So work fast."

"YES, SIR!"

"Duke," Hawk said, his voice stern. "You're still injured. Under no circumstances are you to directly engage. I want you to observe, co-ordinate the covert ops, collect their intel, and get the hell out of there before dawn." 

"Yes, sir."

"And, Duke?" Hawk's eyes narrowed. "If you die pulling some damned fool James Bond stunt, I will personally keelhaul your ethereal ass up and down the River Styx until Armageddon! Got me?"

"…I…promise not to put you through the trouble of that just yet, sir." 

"You better not." The General's voice softened. "Good luck, son. Hawk out." He beckoned for Scarlet to come closer.

The red-haired Field Commander hugged Lady Jaye tightly before making her way to her CO. "Yes, sir?"

Hawk studied the Counter-Intelligence Agent carefully before asking, "Are you up to anymore work tonight? Away from Snake-Eyes?"

Scarlet bowed her head and sighed deeply, briefly showing the General how unhappy she was at the idea of leaving her fiancee longer than a few minutes. "If Jaye can pull herself away from Flint, I can do the same from Snake," she said in a steady voice. She drew herself up proudly. "We're soldiers first, sir. Tell me what you need."

Hawk nodded, pulling her into a corner and dropping his voice even lower. "Apparently, transfer orders for the Joe women DID come in today. BUT," he added quickly before her temper could do more than glint in her blue-green eyes, "Lady Jaye seems to have 'lost' some of them." He gave Scarlet a significant look. "I want ALL of those orders 'lost,' but good."

Scarlet nodded sharply. "I understand."

"Take Stalker with you. Brief him about the real Duke while you're at it. Then," he put a hand on her shoulder, "I need you two to get some rest. I understand that Stalker's wife Lydia wants you and Jaye to camp out at their home tonight?"

"Yes, sir. I…" Her professional demeanor melted slightly. "I think I'll take her up on the offer." 

"Good." He looked at Jaye worriedly. "I don't know when I can let Jaye go," he murmured.

Scarlet glanced at the Intel op and softly said, "Tell me what's really going on here, Hawk. I can help."

Hawk inhaled slowly, considering her offer.

He exhaled gustily and shook his head. "No. You're a Field Commander. I need both you and Stalker fresh for tomorrow, to relieve BeachHead and Gung-Ho so they can get some rest. With Flint out of commission and Duke believed dead I need you four up front more than ever now." He touched her chin. "The team's going to look to you for strength, Scarlet. If you can go on despite your pain, the rest of the team will follow."

She smiled weakly. "Great. No pressure."

"I didn't make you a Field Commander for nothing," he told her. "Captain! Low Light! Time to go. Troops…good luck." 

The four retraced their steps back to the ICU ward in silence. Hawk nodded to the two guards standing between him and his injured men.

He hoped they would be enough this time. 

The black Ranger sitting in the center of the room looked up at their entrance and stood. Scarlet embraced her friend, letting his strength shore up her spirit. "Just let me say good night, Stalker," Scarlet told the Senior Field Commander.

"Take all the time you need," Stalker told her gently. He walked over to Hawk as Scarlet made her rounds, lingering at the side of Snake-Eyes. 

"Any change," Hawk asked.

"No, sir," Stalker sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Not a damn thing." He sniffed. "Sorry, sir. Allergies."

Hawk smiled weakly at the lame joke. 

"It's just…I never thought I'd see Duke…" Stalker wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't be sorry." Hawk gripped the Joe's shoulder comfortingly, feeling more than a twinge of guilt for deceiving the Field Commander. "Scarlet needs to brief you on something before you two can turn in. Might even make you feel better. Are you up to it?"

Stalker nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Afterwards, I want you to tell your wife I said thank you for letting Scarlet and Jaye bivouac at your home tonight."

"Hell, Hawk, it was Lydia's idea." Stalker's dark brown eyes softened. "My wife knows how hard it is to be alone at a time like this." 

Hawk turned his head and took a deep breath. "OK, people," he said evenly, sitting in the vacated seat. "Sack time."

Stalker frowned. "Hawk? Shouldn't you be getting some shut eye too?"

Hawk nodded. "I just want to sit with the men for a little bit. Gung-Ho will relieve me in a few more hours." 

Stalker looked at his General sadly. "Whatever you want, sir." He raised his voice slightly. "Good night, Joes. When I come back, your lazy asses better be out of bed." He dropped his voice. "Good night, Hawk."

"Good night, Stalker, Scarlet." 

"Good night, Hawk," she smiled. Both she and Stalker murmured their farewells to Low Light, who nodded, and to Steve, who respectfully saluted them as they left.

Once they were gone Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "They're a good bunch of soldiers."

Hawk nodded, still smiling. "The best."

Steve cocked his head. "Hey. How are YOU holding up, Hawk?"

"Me?" Hawk glanced at Low Light briefly and told the Captain. "Fine."

Both Low Light and Steve looked at the General sharply. Steve caught the sniper's eye and tilted his head towards the door. Low Light tapped the plastic draping over Lifeline. "Take care, buddy," he said. To the others, he lifted his whispery voice enough over the machines to simply say, "Wake up soon." He trotted out the door.

"Now," Steve said. "How are you really holding up?"

Away from the eyes that looked to him for strength, Hawk buried his face in his free hand. "I'm tired, Captain. So damned tired." He raised his eyes to look at his men as they fought just to breathe. "We both know who's responsible for doing this to my boys."

"Yes," Steve sighed as he hooked another chair and dragged it next to Hawk. "We do." He slipped off the large backpack he wore, propped it within easy reach against his chair and sat down. "What do you want to do about them, Hawk?"

For a long moment, the General was silent.

"I told the Jugglers I'd run a warpath through them if they screwed with my men," Hawk finally said. "They obviously didn't believe me." Hawk turned to Steve, his brown eyes glinting like agate blades. "I can't let those bastards get away with this. No matter what, Captain, I have to make good on my threat." His jaw clenched. "If I don't, there may be more beds in this room."

"What do you want to do about them," Steve repeated softly.

"Ideally, I'd scalp just a few of them to set an example. Make them toe the line." Hawk shook his head. "But if the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Chiefs know about Hueah, I can guess who else shares that information."

"The Jugglers will try to blackmail you for your silence," Steve said. He looked at his friend with old, old eyes and stated more than asked, "But you won't keep silent."

"I can't, Captain."

"You'll be taken down too," Steve warned.

Hawk smiled with bittersweet triumph. "It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

Steve's fists knotted at his sides. "Yes it does," he said tightly. "Hawk, there might be another way---"

Hawk shot to his feet and turned away. "We've discussed that---"

Steve jumped up and blocked Hawk. "No, I'VE discussed it. YOU won't listen."

Hawk's scowl became fierce. "You're asking me to trust the man who's using MY DEAD WIFE to get my Command!"

Steve's eyes glittered like harsh ice. "I know what I'm asking you, but you said it yourself. Your personal life has left GI Joe wide open for a coup. You've been diligent in preparing for the fall out, but you haven't dealt with the fact that YOU JUST DON'T KNOW THE REAL TRUTH. I don't care what intel the Secretary and the Chairman have, the only one who can really give us the truth is Nick. Hueah could have been totally innocent and Nick's just slandering her as a ploy to dangle you out as bait for the Jugglers---" 

Hawk snorted. "That's hardly a ringing endorsement, Captain."

"---or she could have been as guilty as Nick says she was," Steve continued grimly. "Either way, Hawk, you NEED to know."

Hawk jerked as if burnt.

Shocked comprehension suddenly flared in Steve's blue eyes. "This isn't about not trusting Nick, is it," he breathed. "You'd really rather die than hear the whole truth about her!"

Hawk, bristling with denial, opened his mouth…

Steve waited.

…no words came.

Hawk leaned against the railings of Flint's bed. "Dammit," Hawk whispered without heat. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dammit," he repeated more forcefully. "She's DEAD. How does she keep DOING this to me?" 

Sympathy gentled Steve's next words. "You still love her."

"I've loved other women since her," Hawk said harshly. "None of them made my brain slide aft side like this."

A small, sad knowing smile softened Steve further. "But none of them were HER."

Hawk's eyes drooped. "No. They weren't," he said softly. He took a deep breath, fixing his eyes on Flint. "But even when Hueah was alive, she wasn't worth the lives of my men." He nodded sharply. "Very well, Captain. I'll have Low Light arrange a meeting for me with him as soon--- "

The General's com vibrated. 

"Hawk here."

"Sir, its Lady Jaye. Is the Captain still with you?"

"I'm here, Jaye," Steve said. "What's up?"

"We think we might have found something but we need clearance to access the data. Some genius in SHIELD decided each memory file should have a security code. The hackers think they can crack the encryptions, but that will take time."

"Time we don't have," Steve said, glancing at Hawk. "With your permission, sir?"

Hawk nodded curtly. "Granted. Let me know what you've got ASAP."

"Yes, sir."

"Good work, Lady Jaye. Give my compliments to Mainframe and his crew."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Jaye out."

Steve shouldered his pack and gave Hawk a very formal salute. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, General."

"As I'll hold you to yours, Captain," Hawk replied, returning the salute.

Steve grimaced. "I hope you won't have to, kid."

Hawk's eyes softened. "Neither do I, sir."

Steve turned and left the Tomahawk alone with his men.

Hawk sank back down into his chair and closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, boys," he whispered. 

A rustling from one of the beds snapped open his eyes. Quickly he got to his feet, his eyes darting from one bed to the other.

There. Again.

Snake-Eyes was beginning to stir.

Hawk shot to the ninja's side, an ecstatic smile spreading across his face. "Snakes! Thank God!" Laughter bubbled up from his chest. "You tough son of a bitch! I should have known you'd never stay in a hospital for long!"

The mute ninja batted weakly at the oxygen tent. 

"I know, Snakes, it's damn annoying, but you were gassed pretty badly. Leave it---"

The man struggled harder.

"Whoa! Snakes, stop it," Hawk snapped.

Snake-Eyes stopped pushing at the clear plastic, but his breathing became labored, as if the confinement was too much for him.

Hawk frowned. "Slow it down, solider, you'll hyperventilate. Do your meditative breathing."

But Snake-Eyes stretched out a trembling hand to Hawk imploringly. To Hawk, the red of the blocky Arashikage hexagram tattoos on Snake-Eyes' right forearm only emphasized the paleness of the man's skin. Hawk couldn't remember the last time he looked so sickly.

"Just hold on," Hawk said soothingly. "I'll call the doctor. If he says you're up to being without the oxygen tent, then it comes off. Alright?"

Reluctantly, the ninja nodded. Then, with effort, he inched his hand under the tent, holding it out to Hawk.

The General smiled broadly and gripped his hand. "Damned good to see you awake, Snakes. Damned good."

Snake-Eyes' hand tightened in response.

Hawk leaned closer. "Scarlet would be here---"

He never got a chance to finish.

Snake-Eyes' foot came whipping around, connecting with Hawk solidly in the head.

The General crumpled to the floor without a sound, held up only by his hand still clutched in Snake-Eyes' own. The masked man let go and the General lay sprawled on the ground.

"Trusting idiot," 'Snake-Eyes' said, pushing away the oxygen tent. With a muffled grunt, he yanked his own catheter out and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

As planned, a red marker pen hung next to his chart at the foot of the bed. He pulled the red pen from its string, then bent down and twisted Hawk's bare right forearm free of the sling. Hawk moaned in pain.

'Snake-Eyes' kicked him again.

Pulling Hawk's arm up straight, 'Snake-Eyes' carefully began to draw the Arashikage hexagram onto Hawk's forearm.

"I would have cracked it eventually," Daemon grumbled as Steve typed one access code after another into what was left of the SHIELD Life Model Decoy, sending each layer of data streaming into Firewall's terminal.

"Sorry, son," Steve said, his fingers flying. "Some people just don't have the time."

Mainframe whistled as Steve continued to type. "Where the HELL did you get clearance for all those codes?"

"Here and there," Steve hedged. "This isn't as impressive as you think. It's an old model. SHIELD doesn't even use these types anymore. These codes are still Classified, but obsolete." 

"Those codes aren't the only thing that's obsolete," Firewall said, frowning. "What loser designed this memory program? These files are more corrupted than a room full of lawyers."

"Dammit," Jaye spat, raking her hair from her eyes. She sat at a nearby terminal back in her combat uniform, her javelin pack leaning next to Steve's own backpack. "Can we do anything to fix it?"

"Well, we can network what we have downloaded already to over here," Mainframe said, sitting down at another terminal. He punched up the most recent file recorded. "Let's see how bad it is."

At first, there didn't seem to be anything. The screen, with the exception of static, was totally blank.

Then there was some faint speech.

"That's Flint," Lady Jaye said sharply. "Steve, that's Flint! I think we got it!"

"Time index, 1917hours…Well, let's hear it for dumb Joe luck," Mainframe beamed. "That's it!"

"Let's see it," Steve said, pushing away from his terminal. He joined the hackers and Jaye and crowded around Mainframe.

Mainframe grimaced. "No image, just sounds. Makes sense, the decoy's eyes were closed the whole time it was in use."

"Pump up the volume, boss," Daemon said. "Can't hear a thing."

Everyone winced and covered their ears at the onslaught of crackling and hissing that trebled.

"Sorry," Mainframe said. "Let me try to clean this up."

"Hurry," Jaye said, shivering and rubbing her hands over her arms. "I don't think we have much time."

Corporal Bert McDowell shook his head. "I keep thinking, if I had just stayed an extra shift, if I had just been there---"

"You'd have ended up in there with the others," Low Light said, his whispery voice icy. "Now shut up, you two. We're standing guard, not having a social."

McDowell's cheeks burned at the rebuke. He looked as if he was about to say something.

Lt. Paige Adams cleared her throat noisily and shook her head at her fellow Greenshirt. She jerked her head at the door they guarded, reminding McDowell that the General was just a shout away.

Glaring at the sniper, McDowell settled down quietly.

A buzz at the end of the hall brought them to attention.

The door flung open and Dr. Hill came running with a staff of nurses, oderlies and a gurney.

Low Light brought his high powered rifle up to his shoulder at the same time Adams whipped up her own rifle, just a hair faster than McDowell. All three aimed for the doctor. "Halt," she said crisply. "Who's there?"

Dr. Hill skidded to a stop, barring his staff with his out-flung arms. "It's me," he said, brandishing his ID badge. "Dr. Arnold Hill. I just got a call from the Tomahawk. He said one of the men was in trouble."

Low Light lowered his rifle and nodded curtly to McDowell. "Let them in." He gestured with his weapon. "Let's go."

The medical staff burst into the ICU ward. Hawk knelt next to Snake-Eyes, who lay sprawled on the floor. 

"He started to wake up," Hawk told the doctor as he hurried over. "Tore everything out before I could stop him, then he just…collapsed. What the hell is wrong with him?"

Dr. Hill listened to Snake-Eye's heartbeat. "Erratic," he murmured. He felt the ninja's skin. "And hot. He's got a fever. I was afraid this would happen." 

"What the hell does THAT mean," Hawk growled.

"It means his condition's getting worse," the doctor said. "Nurse! I need 10cc's of meprobamate!" The nurse quickly passed him a needle and he injected its contents into the ninja and listened to his heart again. "Better," he nodded, "but he's going to need more help than I can give him here." Dr. Hill beckoned to a pair of orderlies, who gently but quickly hoisted Snake-Eyes onto the gurney. "We need to medevac him to another hospital, one more equipped to handle survivors of chemical weapons," Dr. Hill explained. "I already made the necessary arrangements, just in case. We have a helicopter prepped and waiting at the heliport. Dr. Michaels will care for the rest of your men in my absence. With your permission, sir?"

"Permission? Hell, we're going with you," Hawk announced. 

The staticky download played again.

"Wait," Lady Jaye said sharply. "Go back."

Mainframe complied.

Steve, with his eyes closed, listened carefully. He frowned. "Is that…? Go back again," he ordered. "Clear that section up more, right from that point."

Mainframe flicked a glance at Jaye, who nodded impatiently. He conferred with Firewall and Daemon in low tones. 

Once more, the small audio portion played, still crackling and blank in some areas, but clear in other parts.

"…saying good-bye…sorry."

Mainframe's eyes widened. "Hawk?"

"Shhh," Steve whispered.

"…Clay…AWOL!" Flint's voice exclaimed. "…CANNOT…"

"…Jaye…with me…promising."

"What was that," Lady Jaye skirled sharply. 

They all winced as the jealous roar of Flint came through loud and clear…then silenced in a trail of coughing.

"Clean that sentence up and play it again," Jaye ordered.

Mainframe gulped. "There's only so much we can---"

"PLAY IT AGAIN," she shouted.

Mainframe bent industriously over his keyboard, whispering rapidly with Firewall and Daemon. He played it again.

"With you out…Lady Jaye will…go away with me…like she keeps promising."

Mainframe severed the damning recording.

Four pairs of eyes fixed on the white face of Lady Jaye. She clutched at the two gold rings hanging from her chain, one curled around a brightly cut diamond, the other a plain band. She shook her head as she looked at them all. "He's lying," she said hoarsely. 

Firewall and Daemon looked doubtful.

Mainframe and Steve didn't.

"I believe you," Mainframe said stoutly. "You wouldn't do that to Flint and neither would Hawk."

"Hawk was wrong," Steve whispered. "There IS a patsy to take the fall here."

"There's two," Jaye said, raking a shaky hand through her hair. "Hawk himself and me." Suddenly she jerked herself upright. "Wait! In order for that to work---"

Lady Jaye's wrist-com beeped. 

"Lady Jaye here."

"Ma'am, its Adams."

Jaye swallowed hard, praying this call wasn't about Flint. "Wh-what is it, Adams?"

"Well…you're Commander Scarlet's friend, ma'am," Adams stated reluctantly. "I don't think the General told her yet…so, well I-I just thought you should be the one to tell her…Snake-Eyes is being transferred to another hospital. Dr. Hill, Low Light, and the Tomahawk are going with him---"

"WHERE," Steve thundered.

"They're heading for the hospital's main heliport now. They didn't say which other hospital---"

"A transfer doesn't make sense," Steve said sharply. "Wright Patterson has the best medical facilities in this sector!"

"And Hawk would never leave the base while on red alert, not even for Snakes," Jaye stated hotly. "Hawk WOULD have called Scarlet!"

Steve suddenly paled. "Jaye. Snake-Eyes is masked, right?"

"Yes, he and Kamakura. Why---"

"Jaye," Steve said slowly, carefully. "I left Hawk alone in the ICU ward." Horror shone starkly from his blue eyes. "I'm not so sure that IS Snake-Eyes being transferred out."

Lady Jaye shot to her feet. "MAINFRAME---" 

"On it," Mainframe shouted. "Appraising BeachHead and the Field Commanders of the situation!"

"You two," Steve snapped at the two hackers. "Ground EVERYTHING but your most reliable huey---"He looked at Jaye questioningly.

"Wild Bill's Dragonfly," Jaye supplied, slinging her javelin pack over her shoulders and tossing Steve his own pack. "Wake the cowboy and tell him to saddle up NOW!" 

"We've got it, GO," Mainframe urged them.

Steve and Lady Jaye bolted from the room, running for the most direct route back to the hospital.

Adams picked up on their alarm. "Should we give Low Light back up?"

"Adams is a sharpshooter," Jaye puffed as they ran. "McDowell an infantry man."

Steve nodded. "Tell your partner to hold his post. You, RUN! Trust NO ONE on that roof, shoot the blades off if you have to but DON'T LET THAT MEDEVAC TAKE OFF!"

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me," she puffed dryly as she began her own sprint.

"We've got an imposter wearing stars!"

"WHAT?"

"The doctor's probably an accomplist," Lady Jaye said. "And if HE arranged for the medevac, there's probably more in the huey---" 

"Dammit," Adams spat. "How out numbered will I be?"

Steve and Jaye piled into the elevator and headed for the surface. "Don't know but it won't be for long," Steve said grimly, taking off his backpack. He gripped the straps like a shield as Jaye drew two wickedly sharp javelins. "Lady Jaye and I are on our way up."


	10. Poacher

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*This is a rough Gaelic-English Glossary for some phrases uttered in this chapter:

__

"LOSCADH IS DO ORT!" = Scorching and burning on you!

__

"Go hifreann leat!" = To hell with you!

__

"Ta tu glan as do mheahair." = You're crazy.

*As promised, the next chapter! Hope you all like it (^_^)

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The blades of the medevac Huey whirled, filling the night with wind and deafening thunder. The orderlies and nurses had safely transferred Snake-Eyes into the care of the medevac crew and were already jogging back to the peace and quiet of the hospital. Dr. Hill helped Hawk climb in as Low Light scanned the cleared circle one last time, rifle ready and in hand.

The knot of people in white suddenly fell over as a lithe figure in green shoved her way past them. "What the…Adams?" Her mouth moved, shouting maybe, but Low Light couldn't hear.

But he could see her raise her rifle.

Low Light didn't even stop to think.

He moved his body in front of Hawk's and fired.

The shot sent the rifle flying out of Adams' hands. 

The medical staff scrambled for the door.

Low Light inwardly cursed himself for shooting to disarm. His sniper rifle was a manual; it'd take too long to reload. Already Adams was going for the two pistols strapped to her thighs. Flying in the face of his training, Low Light dropped his precious rifle and whipped out his single service pistol to bear.

He found himself staring at the muzzles of two .45's aimed crosswise at him.

Stand off.

"What's going on out there," Hawk shouted into Low Light's ear.

"I think I found our intruder, sir," Low Light told him, his voice almost lost in the wind.

Low Light's wrist com vibrated.

"Com on," the sniper said, activating it through his voice.

"Low Light, this is Adams---"

The distinctive loud click of a Colt General Officer's Pistol cut through the wind. Low Light felt a flash of gratitude at the extra firepower at his back. "Adams, or whoever you are, you're outnumbered," Low Light hissed. "Surrender. Now."

Silence.

Low Light felt someone loom closer behind him. "Nice and easy," the General rumbled. "Drop the guns."

More silence. Adams made no move to comply.

"Drop them," Hawk ordered harshly. "Do it, little girl. I won't hesitate to fire."

"Dammit," she spat. Very slowly, she let both pistols dangle by one finger each. She knelt, gently placed them on the ground, and backed away, raising her hands over her head.

"Face on the floor," Low Light told her. "Hands behind your head."

Low Light could practically feel her eyes burn the air between them. The hair on the back of his neck rose. 

Something was wrong.

"Do. It," Hawk said through grit teeth.

Never taking her eyes off of Low Light, Adams got on the ground, complying with the orders.

"Hawk," Low Light began, "something feels off about---"

Dr. Hill lunged forward and stabbed the sniper in the neck with an injection.

For a split second, pain gave Low Light the strength to whip around to find Hawk pointing his Colt at LOW LIGHT, not at Adams.

He looked into the General's eyes…and the truth suddenly crashed down on him as the world turned black.

"Get him in here," 'Hawk' snapped at the doctor.

"You won't get away with this, you bastard," Adams' voice growled from Low Light's wrist com. "If you do so much as hover an inch off the pad you'll get blown out of the sky!"

"Whoa," the pilot said, lifting his hands from the controls. 

'Hawk's' lips pulled back into a mocking smile. "This close to a hospital? I don't think so, sweetheart. Take off," 'Hawk' roared to the pilot.

"But---"

"She's bluffing! Take off," 'Hawk' ordered. 

Adams' face twisted in agony as she reached a decision. She slapped her palms onto the ground and flipped forward, rolling head over heels. She grabbed her pistols in mid-roll and hit her feet shooting.

A swath of bullets struck the transmission ring at the base of one of the helicopter's blade mast to no effect. 

"Armored," she spat like a curse. 

The Huey began to rise.

She fired again.

A second stream of lead flew through the open door, over the ducking 'Hawk' and fake medical crew…

…and hit the pilot and co-pilot squarely in the back of their heads. 

The helicopter fell back onto the helipad with a crash.

"YES!" She sprinted for her rifle.

"BITCH!" 'Hawk' dragged Low Light's limp body against his chest with his slinged arm, using the sniper as a human shield to protect his body and head. He brought the Colt up. 

Adams' blue eyes narrowed as she ran. She took careful aim with both pistols.

They fired at the same time.

A bullet slammed into her Kevlar protected ribs, sending her flying off her feet. Her pistols went scattering across the helipad.

At the same time one of her bullets struck the Colt from 'Hawk's' hands. The pistol fell to the tarmac.

Her other bullet whizzed right between Low Light's legs and shattered 'Hawk's' exposed knee.

'Hawk's' screaming obscenities was music to the sharpshooter's ears. Adams wrapped an arm around her ribs and tried to crawl to her rifle, only a few feet away. She kept an eye on the helicopter as she closed the agonizingly short distance between her and her weapon. Already the dead flight crew was being dumped out of their seats and replaced by new pilots. The 'General' had been dragged away from the opening, as had the unconscious Joe sniper.

In their place was a woman in a medical flight suit.

A decidedly pissed off woman…with a bazooka in her hands.

If Adams had the wind to curse she would have. She tried to crawl faster.

The helicopter lifted again.

Adams grabbed the rifle.

She almost sobbed.

A small bullet hole had punctured the barrel, cracking it along the length of the metal cylinder. The rifle was useless.

She failed.

And looking down the barrel of the bazooka pointed right at her, Paige Adams knew she was going to die.

With a valiant last-ditch effort, Adams managed to switch her com to broadcast over the Joe's common airwave and gasped a warning. "…bazooka…"

"Hang on," a man's voice ordered over the com.

Like the calvary riding to the rescue, Hawk's huge Greenshirt guard crashed through the heliport doors. He gripped a large backpack on his arm like a shield.

Right behind him, brandishing javelins like a Gaelic warrior woman of old, ran Lady Jaye.

Over Adams' wrist com, 'Hawk's' voice cried out in alarm. "Zaranna, NO! We had a deal!"

Adams whipped her eyes back to the helicopter. 

At the sight of Lady Jaye an unpleasant smile had spread across the woman's---Zaranna's--- features. "Sorry, Gen'ral," she said, her Down-Under accent thick with malice. "Your girlfriend's in the way." She re-sighted the bazooka right on Jaye.

"ALISON," 'Hawk' screamed in agony.

Zaranna fired.

With a yell, the Greenshirt man flung the backpack spinning through the air. He tackled Lady Jaye to the ground, shielding her as the backpack hit the shell. The explosion rocked the helicopter, throwing Zaranna back inside.

A discus of flame spun away from the explosion and slammed into the helicopter 's tail with the force of a rocket. The helicopter whirled crazily away from the hospital.

Alarms howled belatedly into the night. Searchlights snapped on all over the Airbase, cutting through the darkness to highlight the smoking craft.

Lady Jaye and Steve leapt to their feet running. "Wild Bill," Jaye shouted into her com. "Where the hell are you?"

"Don't you fret none, L'il Lady," the Texan drawled. "Be there in two shakes of a rattler's tail!"

"We need a medic up here," Steve yelled into his own com, practically skidding to Adams' side.

"I'm fine," the Greenshirt wheezed. "Go, GO!"

Steve didn't waste time arguing. He sprinted for the edge of the helipad behind Lady Jaye. "Blast it," he cursed. "Those idiots are still trying to fly higher. We have to force it down before they crash," he told her. He jerked two grenades from his belt. "How good's your aim with those sticks?"

"Try me," she said, hefting one javelin to her ear.

"You got it, Lady." Steve pulled the pins from both grenades with his teeth and hurled them. They arched high over the spinning blades of the rouge helicopter.

With a deadly accuracy that would have made Low Light proud, Lady Jaye's javelins flew from her hands and struck each grenade, detonating them before they touched the damaged helicopter. 

The shock wave pushed the spinning Huey closer to the ground…but at the last second, the helicopter shakily righted itself up and climbed, heading for the tree edge.

"You've GOT to be kidding me," Steve growled.

"WILD BILL," Jaye snapped into her com.

"Stop yur hollerin'! I'm here!" 

A new buzzing filled the air, like the droning of killer bees in full swarm.

Steve's eyes widened. "What the blazes---?"

An enormous insectoid looking green helicopter swooped past them, glittering in the search lights like a deadly modern stained glass art piece come to life. 

"The Dragonfly," Jaye told him, a feral smile on her lips. "About time, cowboy," she laughed into her com. 

"Don't shoot," Steve instructed to Bill through his own com. "They got some of our men! Force them down, nice and gentle!"

"Tend to yur own knittin', son," the pilot told Steve. "You just watch an old ranch hand and see how it's done." And with that the Dragonfly roared off, catching up with the medevac and paralleling its flight. Suddenly it pivoted and blocked the wounded Huey from going any further. The smoking craft tried to dodge the green Dragon but the Joe craft matched it move for move easily. Bit by bit, the Dragonfly began to bully the damaged medevac closer to the ground 

"That pilot's going to need ground support," Steve said, frowning.

"There's BeachHead!" Jaye singled out the First Shirt in the lead jeep of a convoy tearing down the street. "Come on, Steve! There's no way I'm going to let that fake bluster his way past the Joes!"

"Agreed. Get on my back," Steve ordered, kneeling to let her climb on. 

"Wha--?"

"Just get on my back and hold on tight!"

Jaye wrapped her arms around his thick neck. "Why am I doing this?" 

"The stairs will take too long. There's a drain pipe here---"

"WHAT?!"

"HOLD ON," Steve yelled.

Before Jaye could protest he dropped from the edge of the roof. 

"YOU'RE INSANE," she screamed, holding on for dear life.

He twisted in mid-air and easily caught the steel pipe between his gloved hands and boots. "Just repelling without lines," he yelled back. "Don't worry! I've done this for years!" He slid the rest of the four stories down as nimbly as any firefighter on a pole. 

As soon as the ground was within safe jump range, Jaye released her hold on the Captain and gratefully landed. "You New Yorkers," she panted as the Captain dropped lightly next to her, "are INSANE!"

"Get the lead out, Lady," Steve snapped. "We've got a Huey to board!"

But as they sprinted across the hospital parking lot for the Landing Zone, the smoking Huey abruptly hovered, slowly swinging around so the main door faced the convoy.

"BeachHead," Jaye heard Jinx cry out over the com. "EVADE!"

"Aw, CRUD," Wild Bill spat.

The Ranger hauled his wheel sharply to the left, barking orders at the Joes in the convoy to MOVE their sorry butts. Jeeps and motorcycles peeled away as fast as they could or were simply abandoned. Armored vehicles emptied as their occupants ran for cover.

The Huey ignored the other Joes and kept tracking BeachHead, who zigzagged wildly for the cover of the trees.

Jaye and Steve looked on in horror as the Dragonfly dipped under the Huey, shielding the First Shirt with it's own hull. 

The bazooka fired.

The shell exploded right against the Dragonfly's fuselage, sending it spinning to the ground in a shower of fire, shrapnel, and chunks of gouged black top.

The Huey slowly turned and drunkenly tried to climb above the tree line.

"Bill," Jaye whispered into her com. "WILD BILL?"

No response.

"BEACH HEAD? JINX?"

Still no response.

Her face twisted into a stormy rage. "_LOSCADH IS DO ORT_," she screamed at the Huey. She sprinted to the nearest fallen motorcycle, hauled it up and jumped on.

"Stick to English and move over," Steve said, vaulting on behind her. He barely had time to wrap his arms around her waist before she revved the engine and took off after the limping Huey.

"Wright-Patterson Medical, this is Captain Steven Wilson of the GI Joe team," Steve spoke into his wrist com. "We've got a bird downed on your doorstep. Pilot's not responding to hails, presumed seriously injured, possibly two others in a jeep. We need a fire truck and at least two ambulances."

"Gung-Ho," Jaye said loudly over the roar of the motorcycle. "We're pursuing the Huey but we're close to where the Dragonfly went down. Should we continue or veer to rescue?"

"I'LL tell you what you're going to do," a very welcomed Southern drawl said raspily over the com. "You're going to follow that son of a bitch until that wreck crashes. Then I want you to get our men back PLUS Little Miss Pink Hair, that turncoat doctor, AND that low life fake wearing the tin stars. GOT IT?"

"BeachHead," Jaye exclaimed, relief pouring over her voice.

"Don't get all gushy on me, woman, just follow my orders…like you weren't going after them anyways," he snorted. 

"BeachHead, I've got Bill," Jinx's voice shouted. "Hold tight! We're coming back for you!"

"Yeah, like I'm going anywhere," Beach muttered. He grunted, as if trying to lift a heavy weight. "Gung-Ho, Roadblock, get over here. I've got a special job for you two. Spirit, gather a squad together and give Lady Jaye some support."

"You heard the man, Jaye," Steve said. "MOVE IT!"

"YES, SIR," she barked.

The Harley Davidson Motorcycle thundered into the moonlight-spangled forest, her headlight cutting a swath into the night. Jaye weaved around tree trunks, clenching her teeth when she hit the rocks or bounced from a ditch. Occasionally branches would fall around them as the helicopter skimmed the upper treetops, unable to get much higher. "Can you see them," she shouted back to Steve as she kept her eyes on the dark and treacherous terrain.

"Yes! Pick up the pace," Steve yelled. "They're heading for the river!"

"Alison, break it off," 'Hawk's' voice said over the com. "You're going to get hurt! I'll come back for you, I swear."

"Come for me and you'll pull back a bloody stump, imposter," Jaye snarled, pushing the Harley harder.

"You tell him, girl," Jinx applauded over the com. 

"Alison," 'Hawk' began again.

"_Go hifreann leat_," she shot back.

"English," Steve reminded Jaye through gritting teeth. He looked up. "Blast it. Jaye, full throttle!"

"If I hit a tree at that speed---"

"I trust you!"

Muttering a prayer under her breath, she opened up the Harley as fast as it could go.

"When we hit the river, think you can get us airborne," he asked in her ear.

"You want to CATCH that thing in the air with a MOTORCYCLE," she exclaimed. "Have you done this for years too?"

"No. Just once," he said flatly.

"Why are your hands suddenly shaking," she asked sharply.

"Can you get us airborne," he demanded angrily, ignoring her question.

Her lips thinned into a hard, grim line. "Yes!"

They broke through the treeline, hitting the pebbly surface surrounding the riverbank.

Straight ahead was a slopping bluff with a short but steep drop into the white waters below.

"HANG ON," Jaye yelled.

She drove off the cliff at full speed, the incline giving them the extra push upwards to launch themselves at the helicopter flying directly overhead. They both jumped from the motorcycle at the apex of the Harley's arch, reaching for the runners---

Dr. Hill screamed as he was pushed out of the helicopter, crashing into both Steve and Jaye, knocking them away from the aircraft. 

"ALISON," 'Hawk' screamed.

Time seemed to slow as the three tumbled through the trailing smoke. The doctor's limbs flailed wildly, setting him to spin crazily in the air. Steve had just enough time to grab Jaye as they both fell. "TUCK," he barked, putting all the command he could into that one word. Ever the solider, Jaye automatically obeyed. Just before they impacted with the river, Steve flung her back into the air, sending her spinning like an Olympian in a reverse dive.

Steve and the doctor plunged into the churning river below. 

Immediately the undercurrents dragged Steve through the dark, boulder ridden waters. For a second, just a moment, he was caught in the grips of his worst nightmare, a memory sixty years old of Arctic waters filling his lungs as the closest thing he had to a son burned in the air above him. He could almost feel the ice freeze his blood again.

Suddenly a small but determined hand wrapped around his ankle, shattering the paralyzing memory, bringing him back to the present.

Lady Jaye.

He tucked his knees to his chest, dragging the Joe up to his embrace. He held her in one arm and used the other and his legs to guide them away from the huge rocks the river pounded against. He swam with the current, using it to break them through the surface. They were still moving fast and the crashing of the waters were getting louder. "Hang on tight," Steve ordered, spluttering. 

This time Jaye didn't even ask. She just clung to him, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around him.

Steve grabbed his last remaining grenade from his belt. He pulled the pin and released the safety, counting.

At the last second he let go of the grenade.

The river exploded in front of them, the shockwave throwing them out of the waters. Steve held onto Jaye as he controlled their flight, twisting and tumbling in the air.

He landed, crouching, on the opposite bank.

"Lady Jaye?" He laid her onto the pebbly ground. "Say something! Anything!"

The moonlight shone against her pale skin, making her wide green eyes almost glow in the night. _"Ta…tu glan…as do…mheabhair," _she gasped.

He flopped onto his elbows next to her, a grin spreading across his face. "I'll let that one slide."

A deafening crash jolted their brief respite. 

Their eyes looked up to see a huge column of smoke veiling the moon's face.

The Huey had finally crashed.

Steve felt the ice freeze his blood all over again. "Kid…" His face crumpled in pain briefly before he staggered to his feet. His expression hardened. He leaped up the bank and ran off into the forest.

"Captain! Dammit, wait for me, Steve," Jaye coughed. She scrabbled up the bank and ran after him.

It took them hours, but Steve and Jaye finally made it to the crash site. In the time it took the two to get there, their back-up had already arrived and were spread out around the area, searching.

They found Spirit directing the search. His long black hair was bound tightly into something resembling a samurai topknot in obedience to the General's mass punishment orders. He greeted them warmly. "It greatly lifts my heart to see you, sister," he told to Jaye. "We could not reach you over the com after you fell. We had feared you were lost to the river. Even as we speak Shipwreck searches for you."

"Good," Steve said. "Maybe he'll find the doctor."

"He already has," Spirit said, turning to Steve. "The doctor has met with his fate, my young---" He broke off. Spirit cocked his head at the Greenshirt Captain, his dark eyes narrowing.

Steve looked away from the probing gaze. "Is Hawk and Low Light…?"

The tracker shook his head. "Gone. All of them." He pointed to a staked off portion of flattened ground not too far away, surrounded by broken branches and crushed saplings, bushes, and plants. "There was another vehicle waiting for them here. One with VTOL capabilities. But our radar has picked up nothing."

"No," Steve said darkly. "It wouldn't." He nodded at Jaye's questioning look. "SHIELD hovercar. Had to be."

"Steve," Jaye hissed, surprised. "No one else is supposed to know---"

"What difference does it make now, Jaye," Steve asked bitterly. "The Dreadnoks have Hawk!" 

Spirit arched his eyebrows. "And has SHIELD allied themselves with the Dreadnoks?"

"No," Steve said angrily. "SHIELD's just been stupid and let their guard down. Like me." He stormed to the helicopter wreck, gripping the doorframe tightly as he peered inside.

A young Greenshirt nervously cleared his throat. "Um, Spirit, sir? Remember what the Base Commander told BeachHead about Lady Jaye?"

Spirit's eyes flashed like obsidian spearheads. "The Base Commander knows not what he asks," he said scornfully.

"What did he say," Jaye questioned.

"It is ridiculous," Spirit said dismissively.

Jaye's face darkened. "Spirit," she growled warningly.

Spirit sighed. "The Base Commander heard everything over the common frequency." He looked at her apologetically. "He thinks you and the General---"

She held up a hand. "I get the picture," she grimaced.

"No, my sister, I think you do not," he sighed. "The Base Commander wants you placed under arrest. He thinks you played a part in our troubles."

Steve whirled around. "The first man that so much as TOUCHES her answers to me!" 

"Steve, calm down," Jaye said, moving to his side.

He jerked away from her. "NO! We handled this Hawk's way and now he's gone!" He plunged his hands into the still smoking caved-in gash in the tail. With an extraordinary wrenching, Steve tore the steel wide open. He reached in and pulled out the soot covered concave disk that had saved him and Jaye from the first bazooka shell, wounding the Huey in the process. He gripped the blackened leather straps and wiped the surface of the metal with his sleeve.

The triple rings of red and white surrounding a single white star in a blue circle gleamed under the ash.

"Now," Captain America said, "we handle this my way."


	11. Mantling

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

__

Chikuosu = A vulgar way to call someone "a beast" in Japanese.

* To whoever it was that nominated me for the Colton's Award, my thanks. I can't begin to say how flattered I am^_^
    
    * To everyone…Sorry, sorry, sorry…trying to do the best that I can…

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hawk hovered at the edge of the waking world. He could hear voices but couldn't seem to focus on them. He felt a hand run over his hair. Rough fingers dug into his scalp and yanked his head up. Oddly enough it didn't hurt.

Odder still, Hawk found he couldn't move. At all.

Alarm spread over him like ice, pushing him closer to consciousness.

"I must say, sister," a man's almost metallic voice purred, "I am astounded. I don't think I have ever received such a profitable gift before. Or a hotter item. Do the Joes know who took their precious General?"

"Of course," a woman's voice smirked. "What fun would it be if they didn't?"

The man's voice hardened. "That was unwise, sister."

"Oh, come off it, Zartan," she scoffed. "Not like we could keep up the game with Zandar's knee shot t'hell. It was a good run, but 'im and me knew it'd only be a matter of time 'fore 'em wankers in SHIELD caught on." Hawk felt a different hand stroke his cheek. "Besides, it just made the Gen'ral 'ere look that much worse."

A short moment of silence. "What HAVE you been up to, dear sister?"

The woman chuckled. "Seems the Gen'ral 'ere has a few skeletons in 'is closet. 'Em Juggler blokes were REAL pleased to hear that. Threw a whole lot of greens at us t'drag 'is shiny buttons right through the mud." She laughed again, cupping Hawk's chin. "We fixed it so the Tomahawk can't even show 'is mug anywhere near an American Military base without getting shot at."

"That is not reassuring, sister," the man hissed. "If that's the case then the Joes will want him back very, VERY badly."

"Oh, them Joes are going t'come after the Gen'ral alright…but not anytime soon. They gots other problems." Her voice became warm with pleasure. "Not only did we take down Flint, but Duke's out of the picture. Permanently."

A stunned silence. "Truly?"

"Don't believe me? Ask Zandar. 'E was right there when they pulled the plug on 'im." 

"Do you mean to tell me," he asked incredulously, "that you and Zandar have just SMASHED the GI Joe's Chain of Command?"

"Good as," she said, oozing with satisfaction. "Just left 'em BeachHead and 'e ain't no match for the bloke the Jugglers are sending t'replace the Tomahawk 'ere. I figures 'e'll keep the Joes busy long enough for you to let Cobra Commander bid for this prize." Lips brushed Hawk's forehead. "The Commander's been itching t'get the good Gen'ral's feathers for years now. Should fetch you a right neat price."

The man chuckled. "Yes indeed, Zarana. I'll contact the Commander now. He'll be more than pleased by your news. And more than anxious to secure a certain new purchase. You've done well, sister." The hand holding Hawk's scalp released him. His head sagged into the woman's hand. "Learn from your aunt, daughter. She has much to teach you."

A long moment of silence.

"Well," the woman asked smugly. "Nothing t'say about your Auntie's coup?"

For the first time a teenaged girl's American voice spoke up, light, airy and full of sarcasm. "Oh, yeah, Auntie. Nice going. Too bad the desk jockey and his tin solider are still alive!"

"Oh, luv, don't be silly." Hawk felt the woman stroke his head. "Killing 'em would bring the Gen'ral's value down MUCH too low." 

"Whatever. I say the best prisoners are dead ones."

"Really?" The woman's voice took on a sugary tone. "Remember, me DEAREST niece. You're just a babe in arms when it comes t'this game. You might be the darling of the gang now, but until you learn the family's REAL business…" she sighed dramatically. "…I'm afraid you'll be nothing more than the Dreadnok's mascot, ducky."

"HA! You think showing up with this old man's going to make Dad boot me out and put you back in his number two slot?"

"Careful, Zanya. Sounds t'Auntie like you're worried." 

"I'm not worried. It's not like I'M the one who got Uncle Zandar's knee all messed up!"

The woman chuckled. "Mindbender'll have 'im up and around in no time. Your Uncle knows its part of the game. And it's all worth it as long as we gets our money," she said throatily, fastening her lips on Hawk's.

"Ew," the girl said. "Look, you can make out with the old geezer all you want but I don't gotta watch. I am so out of here."

"Children are so predictable," the woman laughed. "'Ello, what's this? A frown? Well, can't have you waking up just yet, Gen'ral."

Something pricked Hawk's arm.

"Sleep, now, luv," she cooed. "And don't you worry none about your man Low Light. I've gots lots of new friends for 'im t'play with."

At her words Hawk battered against the renewed lethargy pulling at his mind. He shuddered once, fighting desperately to open his eyes.

It was a losing battle…

For the second time in two days, Fort Wright-Patterson was on full red alert. 

During the two hours it took Steve and Lady Jaye to rendezvous with Spirit, BeachHead didn't give any Joe a moment to think. Even while he was still pinned under his jeep, surrounded by the burning wreckage of the Dragonfly, he had barked orders into his wrist com non-stop. He ordered Mainframe to track Hawk and Low Light through their wrist coms, and sent Spirit out with a squad to give Jaye and her Greenshirt support. By the time fire trucks and ambulances came, a squad of Joes had the fires contained, and Gung-Ho and Roadblock were lifting the jeep off of the Top. Jinx and Wild Bill were nearby being treated by Joe medics for burns and, in Bill's case, a broken leg. 

Instead of blowing off medical assistance like he normally would, BeachHead practically jumped into the ambulance with Jinx only a startled beat behind him. He bellowed for the EMTs to hurry up and get Bill inside, ordered Roadblock to direct the clean up, and told Gung-Ho to stop tugging his mustache, get a squad, and to go after those people that had an excuse to slip past the Joe drag net earlier that night. 

During the short drive back to the Medical Center BeachHead ordered Scarlet to round-up a squad and search the Hospital from top to bottom, yes AGAIN, for anything suspicious, this time paying VERY close attention to any room that was connected with Dr. Hill. The doctor's treachery was fresh in everyone's mind, as well as questions about Hawk---

BeachHead wouldn't let the team dwell on questions. 

When Mainframe reported that Lady Jaye's and the Greenshirt Captain's wrist coms had stopped tracking over the river BeachHead ordered Shipwreck to take his squids and hit the river. A short time later, Mainframe added that Hawk's and Low Light's wrist coms had stopped tracking too. BeachHead threw every sky-jockey on the team cleared for night flying into every available aircraft they had in a search and containment pattern. 

By the time the doctors were taking X-rays of BeachHead's chest, Sprit had reported in. He had found Hawk's and Low Light's wrist coms, smashed, and had discovered that Zarana switched aircrafts. None of the Joe pilots had seen the aircraft leave the area.

Hawk and Low Light could have been taken anywhere…

BeachHead loudly clung to the one clue they had. 

Zarana.

Zartan's sister had been positively ID'ed on that Huey. She ran the Dreadnok's Chicago chapter, which was only hours away by air. It didn't take too big a stretch of the imagination to guess where she took Hawk and Low Light. BeachHead called the pilots back in and told Stalker to pick out a strike team and to prep them in the WarRoom for a rescue mission.

As the doctors declared BeachHead's sternum full of hairline fractures, Scarlet gave him his first good news of the evening. 

She had found the real Snake-Eyes.

It was a dubious blessing. With remarkable poise and professionalism, the Field Commander reported that the ninja was found comatose, disguised and stuffed into a body suit in a room assigned to on of Dr. Hill's patients, right next door to 'Duke's' old hospital room. Snake-Eyes had been given no anti-toxins to counteract the nerve gas until after he had been found. The doctors weren't optimistic about his chances for a complete recovery.

"Tell them doctors to keep me posted," BeachHead told Scarlet gruffly. "You still got three floors to search and we ain't got all night." He cut the com and returned his attention to the Joe on the other side of his privacy curtain. "Adams! You still there?"

"Yes, Sargent," the sharpshooter said quietly.

"I can't hear you!"

"YES, SARGENT!"

"Better. How's the ribs," he ask brusquely. 

"Fine, Sargent!"

"She has three broken ribs, Sargent," one doctor told him. "We're tapping them up now. She'll be fit for light duties---"

"I ain't sure she's fit for any duties," BeachHead interrupted harshly. Jinx nudged his shoulder. He glared at her and ignored the hint. "So which is it Adams, did you abandon your post at the ICU ward, yes or no?"

"No, Sargent," she barked.

"So you were properly relieved?"

A beat of hesitation. "No, Sargent, I was ordered to the roof by two superiors," she barked in one fast breath, hoping to get an excuse out before he could interrupt.

"You recognized the authority of a brand spanking new Greenshirt?"

"He was a Captain and Lady Jaye backed him and I recognized her authority, Sargent!" 

"And they ordered you to keep that Huey grounded, Adams?"

"Yes, Sargent!"

"So why didn't you," he asked intently.

There was another pause. "I-I told you, Sargent," she said, keeping her voice strong despite a slight tremor. "The Huey was armored. I shot the first pilots, but they had back-ups---"

"All you doctors, out," BeachHead suddenly roared. "ALL of you, OUT! GET!" He waited until he was sure the last of the grumbling physicians had left. He motioned for Jinx to check. She stuck her head out of the curtains, looked around, and nodded back to him. "Adams," he growled. "Why didn't you at least kill that damned imposter?"

"The imposter was using Low Light as a human shield, Sargent, I couldn't---"

"That's a load of bull, girl, and you know it," BeachHead cut in sharply. "You're supposed to be a damned good shot. You could have followed Low Light's example from yesterday and shot through him, kill the imposter and maybe save Low Light too. WHY DIDN'T YOU?"

"I---I'm not as good as Low Light is," she managed to choke past her dwindling pride. "I just didn't think---"

"Damned right you didn't think!" 

"Sir---"

"Don't 'sir' me," he snapped. "I might be in charge of y'all now but I ain't no 'SIR!' Do I sound like a butterbar officer whining about how I 'just didn't think?' No, ma'am, LEUITENANT, Ma'am," he mocked, "I work for a living!"

Fire rose up in Adams' voice at that none too subtle slam. "Now just a minute---"

"A minute? Sure," he drawled, his voice suddenly as lazy as a summertime hammock. "I got lots of minutes. BUT HAWK AND LOW LIGHT DON'T!"

Silence.

"Report to Stalker," BeachHead commanded. "Tell him everything you saw, everything you heard on that roof. Intel's scarce, and God help us, you're the only real eyewitness we have." His lip curled back. "Seems to be the only real use you've got."

"Sargent---"

"Get out," he ordered curtly. 

Jinx scowled at him. 

There was a rustling on the other side of the curtain. The sound of dejected steps quickly left the emergency room.

"A little hard on her, weren't you," Jinx asked sharply. 

"No." He struggled into his shirt. "She's damned cocky, that girl. The only way to sink anything into that thick skull of hers is through a bruised ego. Now she knows she could have done more." He tucked his shirt in. 

Jinx scowled. "Hawk or Duke…" Her voice faltered. She took a deep breath. "Hawk or Flint would have---"

"THEY AIN'T HERE," BeachHead bellowed. He turned away from her and grabbed his Kevlar vest. "I am." 

Jinx crossed her arms, her dark eyes veiled. "I never did congratulate you on the promotion, did I," she asked quietly. 

BeachHead stiffened. He turned his face slightly to her. Weariness and pain pulled sorrow to the surface of his face. "You really think I wanted things this way," he asked her softly. 

Suddenly ashamed, Jinx found herself speechless.

His face hardened. "If you think I'm that kind of man, go right ahead and think that then," he rasped, fastening his vest. "Don't make no never mind to me."

Jinx dropped her gaze. "BeachHead---"

"I ain't a golden boy, I ain't a poet---" BeachHead winced as his vest dug into his sternum painfully. "---and I sure ain't here to win any popularity contests," he snapped, fumbling with the fastenings. "I just do my job. Don't make no never mind what y'all think of me."

Before Jinx could say anything else BeachHead's com beeped. "BeachHead here."

"It's Mainframe, Top. We've got problems."

BeachHead's lips twisted. "Great. What now?"

"I just got a call from the Base Commander. He just sent one of his MP's to escort our…our new CO to Hawk's office," Mainframe said miserably. 

"Damn, that was fast," BeachHead muttered.

"He wants to meet you in 'his' office to get the paper work squared away, right now. BeachHead…" Mainframe hesitated. 

"Spit it out, computer boy," the Top growled.

"The MP's got an arrest warrant for Hawk."

"Dammit, that was TOO fast," BeachHead said with a scowl. "Something like that should have taken half the night to get!" 

"Unless they had it prepped and waiting," Jinx observed suspiciously. "Mainframe, can you dispute that warrant and prove that Hawk was set up?"

"With what? The only guy who COULD dispute it by vouching for Hawk's whereabouts all night is gone too."

"What about Snake-Eyes," Jinx asked.

"Finding Snakes proves that someone got smuggled out of the hospital, but that's it," Mainframe said. "We don't have any concrete proof as to WHO got smuggled out. That imposter's dead body would have proved a set up---"

"But we don't got it so think of something else," BeachHead snapped. "How about the prints from Hawk's sidearm? Adams recovered it from the roof. Said the imposter shot her with it." 

"No," the computer expert sighed. "Only Hawk's prints were on it."

BeachHead's scowl deepened. "A voice analysis from that recording found in 'Duke's' room?"

"It was a 51% match up with Hawk's voice, barely enough to JUSTIFY a warrant," Mainframe growled in frustration. "We don't have a single thing that can dispute that warrant, Top, just support it. DAMMIT ALL---!"

"Lock it down, Mainframe," BeachHead ordered. "Getting pissed at no one ain't gonna do a bit of good."

"Yeah, you're right," Mainframe sighed. "Sorry."

"What are you going to do, Beach," Jinx asked. 

BeachHead closed his eyes for a second and sighed. He opened eyes full of resignation and picked up his mask. "We're soldiers," BeachHead said, tugging on his mask. "Our job is to follow orders…even if we don't like 'em. Spread the word, Mainframe. Might as well let the team know about the Change of Command while they're too tired to riot. Who know," he said wryly, looking at Jinx. "Might even suit 'em just fine. BeachHead out." He nodded to her. "C'mon. Let's get this over with."

Jinx stopped him with a touch on his shoulder. "Beach." 

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

His shoulder twitched under her palm. "Like I said, it don't make no never mind." He took a step…and hesitated. "But thanks," he said gruffly.

They walked silently through the halls of the underground levels until they reached Hawk's office. The door opened at BeachHead's touch and he took one stride…then stopped dead in the thresh hold. 

Shifting in Hawk's uncomfortable black leather chair and rifling through Hawk's desk was a heavy set older man in painfully crisp dress greens. A single star adorned each shoulder. Unaware of the two Joes in the doorway, he plucked the small black velvet box holding Hawk's West Point ring from a drawer. He cracked open the box, clearly intending to put the ring on one of the plump, soft fingers that had obviously never seen real combat.

BeachHead scowled and cleared his throat. LOUDLY.

The fat man snatched his fingers away from the diamond topped gold ring and shut the box with a snap. "Major, who are these people," he demanded.

Stripping the walls of the many photographs of the GI Joe team, past and present, and tossing them into a cardboard box was Major Kenner. The MP looked up and brightened at the sight of the First Shirt. "Ah! Sargent! Come in! General, I have the pleasure of introducing to you Sargent Major Wayne Sneeden of GI Joe. Sargent, this is Brigadier General Alexander Maddox, former Assistant Base Commander of Fort Killington."

BeachHead snapped to attention and smartly saluted. "Sir."

The General waved a casual salute back with the ring box. "Sargent." 

With parade smart precision, BeachHead lowered his arm and marched in, falling into an at-ease position in front of the desk.

Major Kenner smiled. "Due to a series of misfortunes, Sargent Sneeden here has found himself burdened with command of GI Joe."

"No burden, Major," BeachHead said crisply. "In fact---"

"In fact," Kenner broke in smoothly, "you are no doubt relieved to be receiving these Transfer of Command Orders. I know." He took a sheaf of papers from Maddox's chubby hands and passed them to BeachHead. "Oh. And here's the warrant for Abernathy's arrest," he added, handing BeachHead the damning paper. "I'm sure you'll find everything in order."

BeachHead resignedly took the papers. "I---"

Suddenly General Maddox slammed the ring box onto the desk. "What the hell is SHE doing here?"

Everyone turned. 

Jinx was leaning against the wall nearest to the door with her arms crossed. She looked back at them with flat eyes.

"That's Sargent Arashikage, code named Jinx," BeachHead said, barely sparing her a glance from reading his orders. "General Tomahawk assigned her as my bodyguard." 

"I don't care," the General said, heaving his bulk out of the uncomfortable black leather chair. He stomped past the concentrating BeachHead and shook the ring box in Jinx's face. "Young lady, you're a solider! When you're given transfer orders you're to obey them immediately!"

Jinx's almond shaped brown eyes contorted in puzzlement. "I know, General Maddox," she said.

"Then why are you still here?"

She shrugged fluidly. "Because I never got any such orders." 

Maddox's face reddened. "Are you trying to put one over on me, young lady?" 

"No, General Maddox, I'm not," she said coolly. "Yes, I've heard rumors saying all the women in Joe were being transferred, but I've never actually received any orders myself."

"No orders? Absolutely none," Kenner demanded.

"No, Major," Jinx said. "Nothing in writing." 

BeachHead only paid half an ear's attention to the others as they argued but he kept his eyes glued to the papers.

The muscles around his eye suddenly twitched. 

He tuned out the ruckus as he re-read the orders. 

Maddox and Kenner exchanged a look that was heavy with silent communication. "Well," Maddox said finally with an insincere smile plastered over his face, casually tucking the ring box into his coat pocket. "That's unfortunate, my dear. But don't worry, we'll get that cleared up in the morning. Right now, I'm sure you must be tired. You're relieved of duty---"

"With all due respect, General Maddox," she said in a clipped voice, "my orders are to never leave BeachHead's side."

Major Kenner frowned. "Those were orders from a traitor," he reminded her.

"Orders from my General," she barked.

Maddox reddened again. "Sargent Arashiga---Arasheep---"

"My name is Jinx," she snapped. 

BeachHead sighed heavily. That drew the attention of the two officers off of Jinx and onto himself. Maddox dropped his anger and looked at BeachHead smugly. "Have you finished reading the Transfer to your satisfaction, Sargent Sneeden?" 

BeachHead was a solider. His duty was clear. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "I have, sir," he said out loud.

Jinx lowered her lashes, trying to hide the misery in her eyes.

BeachHead calmly tossed the papers onto the desk. "I can't accept these orders."

Jinx whipped her head up, brown eyes wide in amazement. "You can't?"

"No," he hissed at her across the room. "I can't."

Maddox's face flushed with anger. "What do you MEAN you can't accept these orders," he growled. "These come straight from the Pentagon---"

BeachHead held his ground. "Don't matter. GI Joe is a Joint Military Unit," BeachHead explained evenly. "The Pentagon can order us on missions, but the position of Commanding Officer is given by Presidential appointment only. Or through the already established hierarchy. Meaning me. Sir."

"Sargent Sneeden," Kenner said darkly. "I strongly suggest you reconsider your position."

"Do you have ANY idea what I can do to your career," Maddox asked him thunderously. 

Even under his mask, BeachHead couldn't hide his wince. Jinx slid next to him, silently giving him her support. BeachHead lifted his chin. "It don't matter none," BeachHead told the officers evenly. "I'm just following regs."

"I heard that you were ambitious, Sargent," Kenner hissed from behind the General. "But I didn't know you were stupid too. Do you REALLY think you can hold onto this team's CO slot against General Maddox? Against the Pentagon's own appointment?"

The Top was saved from answering by his beeping wrist com. "BeachHead here."

"Sargent, its Rollins. Spirit and his squad's here. He found Lady Jaye and-and---MAN!"

"And what? Spit it out," BeachHead snapped.

"Captain America's with them!"

The General and Major turned milk pale.

BeachHead arched an eyebrow. Interesting. "Are you sure it's really him?"

"Yes, sir---ah---I mean, yes, Sargent! Avengers ID card checks out and has been reconfirmed with their HQ in New York."

"What does he want," BeachHead asked.

"He won't say. Just that he needs to see you."

Shadowed by a vigilant Jinx, BeachHead slowly made his way around the desk. Very deliberately, he sat in Hawk's black chair. "Send him in."

"NO!" Maddox tried to grab the Sargent. BeachHead pushed the chair back, effortlessly wheeling out of the older man's range. "Deny him access! That's an order," Maddox shouted desperately. 

"General, stay calm," Kenner growled. "Sargent, this isn't any of the Captain's business. Until we settle this, he's not allowed inside."

"Well, sirs, this is technically MY office for the time being, not yours," BeachHead told them. "I'm not under your authority---"

"I'm with the Military Police," Kenner barked. "Members of you unit are under investigation, meaning you ARE subject to my authority---"

"To an extent, Major," BeachHead interrupted, scowling. "And you just exceeded your authority. Rollins, let the Captain---"

Maddox drew his Colt. "NO!"

Kenner cursed and drew his pistol as BeachHead dove from the chair. The Joe's chest exploded with pain, slowing his grab for his Beretta.

A shadow moved in front of the Ranger lightning fast.

There was a flash of metal and the high ringing sound of steel striking steel. A black steel chunk arched through the air and hit the wall as Kenner let out a strangled cry and dropped his gun, vainly trying to stem the flow of red spurting from the slender spike in his hand. He stumbled into a chair and collapsed into it, eyes wide.

The pale Brigadier found himself holding a Colt minus it's barrel…but his eyes were fixed on the two-foot sword that Jinx held at his throat. 

The door slid open and the two corridor guards flew in. "FREEZE!" 

"A little late," BeachHead gasped as he got to his feet. "Looks like I gotta remedy that with y'all tomorrow during that extra PT you just earned!"

Both Greenshirts winced.

Maddox clutched at his chest.

"…medic…" Kenner whimpered.

"In a minute," BeachHead told the MP. 

"What happened here," a dangerously soft voice from the door asked.

Everyone whipped their heads around.

Standing in the doorway, flanked by Spirit and Lady Jaye, was a huge and muddy Greenshirt with wind blown blonde hair as rumpled as his uniform. His top flapped open, revealing blue chainmail patterned with vertical red and white stripes wrapped around his abdomen. A white star shone against his chest.

Strapped to his right arm gleamed a distinctive shield painted with the nation's colors.

There was no mistaking this man's identity.

Maddox began to hyperventilate. 

"GI JOE," BeachHead barked. "Atten-HUT!"

With the exception of the watchful Jinx, all of the Joes in the room snapped to attention and fired off their best salutes.

"Captain America," BeachHead said in his best parade voice. "GI Joe is honored to have you here, SIR!"

The Captain solemnly returned the salute. "I'm the one honored, Sargent. Please. At ease. Now tell me, what happened?"

Maddox fell to the floor unconscious.

"MEDIC," Kenner roared. 

Jinx sheathed her sword. BeachHead glanced down. "Seems General Maddox's having a heart attack," he said mildly. "Rollins, get the medics. Spirit, take care of General Maddox. Beuke, try to see that the Major doesn't go into too much shock." He sat back in Hawk's uncomfortable desk chair. "Lady Jaye, tell the hospital---"

"My com's busted," she told him, glaring at the tarnished officers with pure hate.

"---Jinx, tell the hospital to prepare a room in the prison wing. Let the Base Commander know his visiting General and pet MP pulled their sidearms on me---"

"It was self-defense," the Major protested loudly. "This is a conspiracy! Sneeden pulled his Beretta first! And YOU!" He pointed at Jaye. He stood and shoved the attending Greenshirt aside. "Woman, you've got some explaining---"

The Captain stepped in front of Kenner, blocking him. "You're not fit to touch her," he said softly.

The Major's lips pulled back into a sneer, looking at Jaye rather than meeting the blue eyes snapping fire at him. "Abernathy wasn't enough of a conquest, eh?"

With unbelievable speed Steve's left fist struck the Major across the jaw. The man flew back, hitting the nearest wall. Framed photos of the Joe team rained down on the man. Kenner scrambled for his fallen pistol. The Captain's boot slammed into the man's chest, sending him flying back into the wall. More photos fell.

In the stunned silence Captain America approached the fallen MP and crouched next to him. "I heard about Snake-Eyes," Steve said softly. "He was found in the room YOU personally checked." Steve's blue eyes pinned the cowering man with barely contained rage. "Care to explain that? MAJOR?" 

"YOU'RE the one who hurt our teammates? My CLANSMEN," Jinx hissed. Her hands flashed out. _"Chikuosu!"_

Steve's hands clamped down on two slim spikes quivering a hair's breath away from the MP's family's jewels. 

Kenner's eyes went wide and wider still when another spike appeared in Jinx's hand.

Steve dropped the spikes he held and moved protectively in front of the Major. "We need him alive for questioning," he berated her.

"'Q-questioning?' But I-I don't know anything," Kenner stuttered.

"I wasn't going to kill him," Jinx snorted, twirling a second spike into view. "Just puncture a few non-essentials to help him think."

Kenner paled.

"How many of those things do you have," Steve demanded.

Jinx bared her teeth. "Enough to kill everyone in the room," she said cheerfully.

Kenner promptly wetted his pants.

"Gah! Spirit! Get that trash outta here," BeachHead ordered. "Jinx! Stop fooling around and do something useful! Take Spirit's place so he can clear the air!" 

"Who was fooling," Jinx muttered under her breath. The spikes vanished from sight. She leapt over the desk and knelt next to Spirit, who had removed the stiff jacket from the officer and pumped the heart under the flabby chest with all of his strength. 

The tracker looked at her apologetically as he worked. "My sister, I do not know if your weight is enough to move this one's bulk to keep him alive."

Her brow wrinkled in thought as she eyed the fat man. Suddenly she winked. "Don't worry. I've got a plan. Just get Stinky there out of here so I can work."

Wisely, Spirit didn't ask. He just relinquished his spot, made four members of his squad each take a limb of the soiled Major, and bum rushed him all the way to the stockade.

"You two," BeachHead said, pointing to the two Greenshirt guards. "Clean that mess up. DO I HEAR WHINING," he roared as they began to groan.

"NO, SARGENT!"

"I thought not," BeachHead huffed, resisting the urge to massage his burning chest. "I'm sorry about all this, Captain. As you obviously know," he said, nodding to the muddy Greenshirt uniform the Captains wore, "feelings are running a little high right now."

"It's alright, Sargent. As you saw, I'm not exactly immune to them. Was he here to replace Hawk," the Captain asked, gesturing at Maddox.

"Yes, sir," BeachHead said. "But he didn't have the proper paperwork. There are procedures to be followed---"

A loud electric buzz cut through the air. 

BeachHead jumped to his feet and craned his neck to see the General in just his undershirt and trousers with Jinx holding a taser near his chest. "JINX! What the blazes do you think you're doing?"

"Jump starting his heart," she said matter-of-factly.

"Don't be an idiot," he snapped. "You need bare skin for that. Take the undershirt off and try again."

"Gotcha." She slit Maddox's shirt open with a knife and shocked him again. He let out a gasp. She put an ear to his chest. "I got a beat!"

BeachHead nodded gravelly. "Nice work, Jinx. Just in time, too," he commented as the medics filed in. With Steve's help the medics managed to lift the General onto the gurney. 

"Wait a minute," Jinx said. She dipped her hand into Maddox's coat pocket.

"Jinx, what are you doing," Jaye asked.

The ninja held up the black velvet box and tossed the coat onto Maddox. "Just taking back what doesn't belong to him." She tossed the box to BeachHead. 

"Damn thieving Brass," BeachHead muttered, carefully putting the box back into the drawer. "Beuke, Rollins, that'll do for now. Give your mess to the medics and get back to your posts. You medics, get that carpetbagger outta my sight!" 

The Greenshirts all beat a hasty retreat, leaving the three Joe vets and the Captain alone in the office. 

BeachHead turned to the Captain. "Sir, what's going on," BeachHead demanded bluntly. "What are you doing here?"

Steve sighed and produced a set of folded papers from a waterproof pocket in his overshirt. 

"What's this," BeachHead asked.

Steve looked at the gilt eagle on the wall holding a little matte frame in its claws. "A promise."

BeachHead unfolded the papers.

The Seal of the President of the United States were stamped on the pages.

BeachHead scanned the orders. He gave Jaye a hard look. He re-read the orders carefully. "Are these signatures genuine? All of them?"

Jaye nodded. "Yes. If you don't believe me have Mainframe look them up. These orders are registered in GI Joe's personnel records as of this evening, as well as in the DOD's Classified databanks, and in the President's own files." She smiled. "In triplicate. With back-up files." 

Jinx's eyebrow shot up. "You've been busy."

Jaye raked her hair back wearily. "You have no idea."

"I believe you'll find everything in order," Steve said. 

BeachHead placed the papers down on the desk. He straightened, ignored the shooting pains in his chest, and looked the Captain square in the eyes. "Captain America, SIR!" He saluted smartly. "I relinquish Command."

"Sargent Wayne R. Sneeden…" Gravely, Captain America saluted back. "…I accept Command." 

Lady Jaye let out a sigh of relief.

It was official.

Captain America was the new Joe Leader.

Steve didn't waste anymore time. "Let's go!" They all poured out of the office. The Greenshirts trailed behind them, looking bewildered. "BeachHead, give me a sit-rep. What are you doing to get our men back?"

"Stalker is standing by with a strike force," BeachHead said. "We have a pretty good idea where Zarana took them. She leads the Chicago branch of the Dreadnok gang. Probably took them there. We're almost ready on our side. Mostly been waiting for word from some Covert Ops we got planted with the rest of the Dreadnoks. Didn't want to just blunder on in and screw the whole operation." 

Steve nodded. "A good cautious attitude, Sargent, but---"

"Captain," Jaye said suddenly. "Where's SHIELD?"

"What?" Jinx scowled. "What about SHIELD?"

The Captain looked at BeachHead sharply. "No one from SHIELD's tried to contact you?"

"Not that I know of," BeachHead said.

"For some reason that doesn't comfort me," Jaye told Steve.

Steve's eyes narrowed as his mind raced. "Does anyone know if Low Light has a tattoo of a black bird, any bird, anywhere on him," he asked suddenly. "One that he didn't have when the team disbanded years ago?"

"Yes, sir," BeachHead said. "His own twist on the National Rifle Association insignia. Flying black owl holding two rifles against the Flag on his left biceps."

The Captain's steps picked up speed as he whipped out his Avenger's com-card. "Nick!" 

No answer.

"Sharon!"

"What," Carter snapped. The background noise was full of wind and engines. "Cap, I'm a little busy---"

"WHERE'S NICK?"

A slight pause. "Why the sudden interest," she asked suspiciously. "And why is this call coming from Fort Wright-Patterson?"

"Nick, I know you're there too," Steve roared. "Nick, Sharon, you've GOT to pull back! You're going in blind! Let Joe take this---" 

"I'm sorry, Cap," the gravelly voice of Fury said loudly over the whine of aircrafts. "They can't wait."

"NICK---" 

He cut the line. 

"I'll KILL them," Steve swore violently. He began to run. "Get me Mainframe!"

"Yes, sir," BeachHead said. He pressed a button on his wrist com. "Mainframe." 

"Mainframe here. What's up, BeachHead?"

"The new CO wants to talk to you," BeachHead told him.

"Mainframe," Steve began. "This is Captain America---"

"HOKEY CROW," Mainframe blurted out. 

"Get Wardog on the horn," Steve snapped. "NOW!"

Hawk felt like he was being churned in molasses. His limbs felt like they had been dipped in lead, his head felt stuffed with cotton and helium, and his wounds and ears pounded in time with his heart like a concert of jackhammers. He swallowed hard, barely wetting his throat, trying to pop the painful pressure in his ears. His eyes felt like all the sand in Utah had come to rest in them.

He'd had better days.

"---TOLD me sooner, I'd never 'ave given 'im that tranq," a woman complained.

Hawk recognized that voice. 

"And I have told YOU, sister dear," a man hissed dangerously, "the Commander requested that he'd be awake AFTER you gave the General his medicine. I wasn't blaming you, so stop your whining!"

Zartan…?

"I dunno, Dad," a girl's voice said skeptically. "Can the old guy take all these mixed shots?"

"Why not ask him, daughter," Zartan chuckled. "I know you're awake, General."

Hawk cracked open his bloodshot eyes. He blinked, trying to focus his blurred vision in the dim…room? He tried to move. Futile. He was bound to a cushioned chair. There was something familiar about his surroundings…if only his brain didn't feel so foggy… 

One fuzzy figure stepped closer to Hawk, towering above him. "Hello, General," Zartan purred. "How are you feeling?"

Hawk licked his lips. "Abernathy," he croaked. "Clayton M. Lieutenant General. RA2-127-5406."

Zartan sighed. "I think it's a little early in the game to be giving us your name, rank and serial number, General."

"'Ere now," Zarana said briskly, holding up what looked like three pairs of hands in front of his face. "'Ow many fingers am I 'olding up?"

Hawk blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, trying to clear his head. "Abernathy, Clayton M. Lieutenant General. RA2-127-5406."

"Sounds like his track's skipping," Zanya said with a smirk in her voice.

"Well," Zarana said. "Maybe THIS will knock 'im back on track."

A squarish glow appeared before Hawk.

There was an image on it.

"Take your time, General," Zartan said smugly.

"Maybe THIS will help faster," Zanya said sweetly.

Hawk let out a gasp as hot coffee hit the open wound in his neck and splattered over his hurt shoulder, dripping down over his cut chest.

"ZANYA," Zartan roared.

"What?"

"DON'T damage the goods before we get our pay," Zarana hissed. 

"Haven't I taught you that much," Zartan yelled. 

"Well, he's awake now," Zanya said defensively.

"I was awake before," Hawk said raspily. He licked his lips again, tasting the coffee. He made a face. "Terrible. Water's got more kick."

"We could arrange for refreshments more to your tastes," Zartan told him. "IF you agree to co-operate with us, that is."

Hawk looked the Dreadnok leader straight in the eyes. "Abernathy," Hawk said with great deliberation. "Clayton, M. Lieutenant General. RA2-1---"

"Oh, shut UP already," Zanya yelled. She practically shoved her elders away to lean nose to nose with Hawk. "If you say those damned numbers one more time---"

"You'll what, little girl," Hawk asked with a smirk. "Hurt me? Kill me?" He flicked his eyes at her father and aunt. "I don't think so. You haven't been paid yet."

"I won't do anything to you, old man." She reached behind her and held a laptop screen right up to his face. "I'll get someone to do something to HIM."

At the sight of the image on the screen, Hawk's face went still. "Low Light," he breathed.

Zartan put an arm around his daughter and smiled proudly. "Perhaps now, General, we can talk?"


	12. Feathered Pelt

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*Concerning some obscure slang in this chapter…all I'll say is that some slang don't need no translation to get the point across ^_^

**WARNING!! There is some sexual innuendo as well as torture here. The name of this chapter is not whimsical, it's a hint. If you cannot abide by blood, pain, or suggestive language, I'm sorry, but perhaps you shouldn't continue.

You've been warned.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Low Light, WAKE UP! THAT'S AN ORDER!"

With a heart-stopping gasp, slate gray eyes snapped blindly open at the Tomahawk's command. Low Light tried to slow his terror-borne panting. For one disorienting moment he thought he was back on Hawk's couch. 

Then the pain hit him.

Strained muscles and abraded skin filled his awareness with an ache that pulsed from fingers to shoulders, from his toes to his thighs and all the way up his back, and a tiny but deep pain stabbed at his neck. He tried to struggle. No use. He tried to look around but intense light filled his vision. Briefly he was blinded, blinking against the lights. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the glare. 

From the top of ramshackle warehouses forming a quadrant, huge halogen lights illuminated the night, pouring cool bright light over his sweat soaked body. He was firmly lashed by the wrists and ankles to a steel frame with chains, tightly stretched spread-eagle with his back on the dirt. He was also barefoot and stripped to the skin from the waist up. "What the---"

Raucous laughter erupted around him. 

His lips thinned as he fully realized his surroundings.

He was in a junkyard.

And he was surrounded by bikers wearing the Dreadnok colors.

"Aw, man, look," a coarse voice mocked in disappointment. "Widdle Joey's awake."

"Ain't that sweet," a woman brayed. "He thinks Daddy's here to scare the Boogie Man away!" More people hooted and called out fresh jibes, emboldened enough to throw empty and not so empty beer cans and hard grape soda bottles at the bound Joe. 

Low Light stoically ignored the barrage and schooled his features to show nothing, but he felt his cheeks flush. They'd seen him in his damned night terrors---

"Low Light," Hawk barked.

The sniper's head immediately swiveled to the right. Hawk's shadowed face loomed from a laptop screen perched on top of a stack of junked car engines. "Sir?"

"I'm impressed," an unseen man's voice said over the laptop's speakers. "I was sure he was going to need help waking up."

"Too bad," a hidden woman's thick Aussie voice chuckled over the speakers. "It was real entertaining t'watch 'im wiggle like a whipped puppy."

Low Light's eyes narrowed. He recognized those voices.

Zartan and Zaranna.

Everything came back to Low Light with the force of a gut punch---the roof, Adams trying to warn him, the needle in the neck, the gun to his head, the treacherous eyes---

Low Light turned his face away, feeling sure he knew who 'Hawk' really was. 

"Soldier, look at me," Hawk hissed.

"Yeah, look at Daddy," another man jeered from the darkness.

Low Light didn't even bother to search for the loudmouth. He just curled his fingers and flipped them all off.

The Dreadnoks' rambunctious laughter and cursing burst into a roar. "Hey, baby's got balls after all," someone cackled. A new round of strident catcalls and whooping cut through the night.

"Dammit, Low Light," Hawk roared over the din, "LOOK AT ME!"

Warily, the sniper returned his winter gray eyes to the screen.

Brown eyes almost completely dilated black looked back at him: watery, bloodshot…and blinking in a pattern at him. Modified Morse code, Low Light realized with a barely hidden start.

-O-W-L-

The icy gray eyes thawed slightly. 

"You look like hell, soldier," Hawk said bluntly.

"You too, sir," the whispery voice managed to croak. "Drugged?"

Hawk nodded cautiously. "My liver can take the shock. You?"

Low Light shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Feels like the third day of a two day leave," he said, blinking rapidly in code back to Hawk.

-W-A-R-B-I-R-D-

The tension around the General's eye relaxed just a bit. 

"Where are you, sir?"

"I…I don't know," Hawk admitted. "Disoriented. No windows."

Guilt softened the night spotter's stoic expression. "Hawk," he whispered miserably, "I'm sorry. They got past me---"

"Beat yourself up later, soldier," Hawk said gently. "Right now I need you to hang tough."

"Funny you should mention hanging," Zaranna laughed. "Road Pig!"

Somewhere behind Low Light an enormous motor kicked into life. There was a whirling over head. Low Light felt the steel structure he was chained to rattle. The Dreadnoks began to whistle and cheer.

"Dammit, not again," Hawk roared.

"Aren't we sensitive," Zartan chuckled. "If you care so much you shouldn't have woken him. It was far kinder to let him sleep through all this."

"What the hell would you know about kindness," Hawk hissed in a strained voice. Whatever drugs were affecting the General did nothing to dull the helpless rage blazing starkly from the dark eyes.

The steel frame began to tilt up, head first. 

"Low Light, brace yourself," Hawk ordered.

By that time the sniper could guess what was coming. He struggled to get enough slack to find a toehold, a finger hold, anything to help take the weight off. 

No use. The chains were too tight.

He locked his knees, clenched his sore arm muscles and braced himself.

The steel frame lifted vertically into the air, spinning slowly, suspended by a wrecking yard crane.

Low Light held back a cry of pain as the rough links of chain dug into his raw wrists and ankles with the force of his own weight and gravity.

The crane stopped once he was a foot off the ground. 

That didn't make it hurt any less.

"Now then, General," Zartan said. "Let us try this once more. These files that Zaranna told me about---"

"What kind of assassins are you people," Hawk snarled. "You got paid to kill me but instead you're toying with my soldier while I'M still breathing!"

"Oh, we weren't paid t'kill you," Zaranna chuckled. Her hand snaked into view, cupping Hawk's cheek. "We were paid to destroy you. There's a difference, y'know."

Hawk's face twisted in disgust and he jerked away from her.

"That's right, dearie," Zaranna laughed at him. "You're breathing but you ain't got nothing left. Not your friends, not your career, not your country…not even your precious Joes."

Even through the pain Low Light could feel Hawk's anger pour out in waves from the screen. The General's eyes narrowed into a raptor's killing glare. "What have you done," he hissed murderously.

"Don't you remember," she asked coyly. "You threw it all away. For love." 

Agony slashed across Hawk's face. The Dreadnoks roared with drunken laughter.

"Leave him alone," Low Light yelled. 

"ROAD PIG SAY YOU BE QUIET," an ugly voice bawled from the crane's cab. Low Light was lifted another five feet. "LET ZARANNA TALK OR I DROP!"

"Thank you, Road Pig, luv," Zaranna purred. 

"Low Light, let it go," Hawk said quickly.

The night spotter's lips thinned, but he gave the General a curt nod.

"Well, sister, it seems you're mistaken. The General still has one Joe left."

"Does that mean we can't kill the hanging fuzz after all," a bored girl's voice asked from off screen.

"No, daughter," Zartan said patiently. "He still has some uses."

"Zanya, what did Auntie say about being too eager," Zaranna asked with brittle sweetness.

"I dunno," the girl sang with equal sweetness. "Same thing about talking too much?"

"Catfight," a bellow from the Dreadnoks cried out. "Catfight! Catfight!" The chanting picked up rhythm and volume. "Catfight! Catfight! CATFIGHT! CATFIGHT!"

The image of Hawk was snatched away to be replaced by the raging face of Zartan. "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!!"

The junkyard filled with silence so intense, only the sound of the wrecking crane engine could be heard.

"That's better," Zartan said, once again centering Hawk's face on the screen. "Really, ladies," Zartan continued, "what kind of an example are you setting for the gang?"

"A sucky one," Zanya snapped.

"ZANYA," her elders roared as the gang laughed.

"I mean it, Dad! We're Dreadnoks, we're family! We know there's a line you don't cross. We RESPECT that line. This geezer's an outsider. He thinks he's so high above us, that he's better than us. Has the he shown you any respect? No! If this was another gang leader you'd have capped his sorry ass by now!"

"Very true," Zartan said. "But most gang leaders don't cost ten million dollars alive, so killing him is out of the question. But," he said, "you are right. He needs to be taught manners. I'm curious, daughter, what would you suggest?"

"He's got a tattoo, right?" An evil smile could be heard in the teen's voice. "Dis his colors."

Hawk snorted. "Go ahead. It's not even real."

"Not your tattoo, old man," she sneered. The screen spun around to show Zanya leering at Low Light. "HIS."

A tiny smile cracked the SHIELD Agent's stony face. "Like the General said---"

"ROAD PIG SAID BE QUIET!!"

Low Light's stomach lurched as the frame dropped four feet before jerking to a stop, knocking his teeth together, jarring him from ankles to hip, ripping muscles and nearly tearing his arms from their sockets. With an effort of will he kept from screaming, but his face twisted in pain.

"Low Light," Hawk shouted.

The Dreadnoks cheered.

The screen spun again, showing Zanya nose to nose with the furious General. "I say we start by skinning his tattoo off. In slices." 

"A good start," Zartan mused. "What else would you suggest?" 

Her smile stretched wider as Hawk's brow furrowed deeper. "They call the old man here the Tomahawk, right," Zanya asked. "I've always wanted to see someone get scalped."

The Dreadnoks cheered even louder. "Zanya! Zanya! ZANYA! ZANYA!!"

"THAT'S my girl," Zartan hissed with fierce pride. "Dreadnoks! Do I have a volunteer?"

Every hand in the crowd shot up. 

"First one on the frame gets to cut my Princess new leather," Zartan roared. "GO!"

The Dreadnoks surged forward, some on foot, some on their bikes. They shoved, kicked, beat and bit their way to closer to Low Light.

"Road Pig," Zartan yelled, "we don't want to make this too easy! Bring him up!"

Low Light began to rise above the brawling Dreadnoks. The gang fought even harder. One stocky young Dreadnok leapt up and used the backs and shoulders of his gang mates as a launching pad. His wild mop top of bright green hair flopped crazily as he jumped and caught hold of the metal frame with both hands, causing it to swing precariously. 

Hawk inhaled sharply.

"We have a winner," Zartan announced. The Dreadnoks groaned in disappointment.

Road Pig let the frame rise higher before stopping, letting it hang twenty feet in the air. 

The green haired Dreadnok pulled himself up, steadied himself, found his balance on the narrow ledge and edged closer to Low Light.

A very sharp shiv was clenched between his teeth.

Low Light's eyes narrowed. Dammit, they weren't going to skin him without a fight!

Ignoring the protests of his agonized limbs, Low Light rocked the frame out like a swing. The frame swayed wildly back and forth, making the Dreadnok's balance precarious.

For a moment it looked like the thug might fall.

With a lightning fast grab, the Dreadnok grabbed the top of the frame with both hands and pulled himself up. Letting out a furious yell around his shiv, the Dreadnok whipped his steel-toed biker boot in a roundhouse kick right to Low Light's gut.

And again.

And again.

"STOP," Hawk shouted, ringing the air with command.

The green haired Dreadnok froze. The rest of the gang quieted down.

The frame stabilized as Low Light fought to breathe, his body instinctively trying to curl up.

"What. Do. You. Want," Hawk growled through his bared teeth.

A pause. "More money, of course," Zartan said, surprised. "As you can see, I have a large family to feed."

The Dreadnoks all laughed at that.

"What do you WANT," Hawk bellowed.

"The files," Zartan said in a flat voice.

"What files," Hawk asked irritably.

"Don't play dumb with me," Zartan hissed angrily. "You know which files I mean!"

"Why the hell should you care," Hawk demanded. "You've got enough of your own Intel to blackmail them all into poverty!"

"Maybe we'll do that one day," Zaranna said. "But they're giving me an extra bonus for getting your files on them." Her voice hardened. "The files, Gen'ral. Now. Or we do more than cut up your boy."

Low Light hung swinging with the frame's momentum, wheezing in strangled, tortured breaths. Low Light raised his head and met the frantic eyes of his CO. Coughing, he shook it sharply from side to side. The Jugglers couldn't be allowed to cover their tracks, not like this, not by using him against Hawk, not again!

-N-O- he blinked to the General. -N-O-

Before Low Light could convey more the green haired Dreadnok dragged the shiv's point right across the skin above the tattooed black owl. Low Light gasped at the sudden pain.

"Dammit, STOP IT," Hawk cried out hoarsely.

"Well, General," Zartan purred. "Have we convinced you of our sincerity?"

"I never doubted it," Hawk said angrily.

"Then where are the files," Zanya demanded.

Hawk's eyes flicked uncertainly between Low Light and the green haired Dreadnok. Hawk took a deep breath. "Abernathy," he said in a wavering voice. "Clayton M. Lieutenant General---"

"Let Auntie 'andle this, duck," Zaranna said sweetly. Her voice turned harsh. "Slice 'im again."

The shiv slashed into the night spotter's flesh again, cutting right through the owl's neck. Low Light ground his teeth down and refused to let any sound escape, refused to let any pain show.

The Dreadnok wasn't done.

Another cut and another, on either sides of the black owl, framed the bird's head in red wetness. Crimson drops fell from the sniper's wounds in rivulets.

The green haired Dreadnok grabbed a corner of the cut flesh and held the shiv's flat blade poised for skinning.

Hawk's dark eyes stared in horrified silence. 

"Should we let him continue," Zartan asked smugly.

Hawk lowered his head and closed his eyes. "It's on a website," he said softly.

The gang cheered.

The green haired Dreadnok reluctantly backed off. 

Low Light hung his head, feeling the shame burn past the pain and right down to the bone.

"There, that wasn't so hard," Zaranna cooed. "Now be a duck and give us the address."

Hawk mumbled.

"Speak up, deary," Zaranna said sharply.

Hawk sighed. "I said, it's posted on http://www.homecookiebake.net."

Dead silence.

The Dreadnoks gawked.

Even Low Light raised his head to look askance of Hawk.

"You can't be serious," Zartan finally said harshly. "You put Classified files capable of bringing down some of the most powerful men in America…on a BAKING website?!"

Hawk ignored him. "Log in under 'flouredrose'," he continued, refusing to look at anyone. "Flour with a 'u' as in uniform. One word. No caps. Password 'toiyenem'. Spelled tango oscar india oscar yankee echo november echo mike."

"What the hell is he spewing," Zanya demanded.

"American military alphabet," Zaranna told her condescendingly. "Don't worry, ducky, Auntie's got it." A pause. "Well. We're in," she said, surprised. "I 'ave to admit, I'd never 'ad thought of looking 'ere. What now, Gen'ral?"

"Type in the search box." Hawk closed his eyes again. "Six zero dot five charlie romeo three whiskey dot uniform."

A pause.

"That's it," Zaranna demanded.

"That's it," Hawk confirmed. "A series of recipes will appear. The files on the Jugglers are encrypted in them---"

"Just wait a damned minute," Zanya snapped. "60.5r3w.u? Is that it?"

Hawk didn't say anything. He just nodded.

"You smart ass BASTARD," she screamed, punching Hawk hard across the face.

"ZANYA," her father roared.

"That's hacker slang for 'go screw you,'" Zanya shouted back. 

"BLOODY HELL," Zaranna shrieked. There was the sound of something being thrown hard against the wall. "That code triggered a flag! Someone tried to trace us!"

The teenager's hands appeared on screen as she grabbed Hawk by the shirtfront and shook him. "You stupid old man! You think this is some kind of joke?"

"No, little girl," Hawk hissed, his voice rough with scorn. "I'm just showing you what real disrespect looks like." He turned his dilated eyes to Low Light, their dark depths brimming with defiance. "If my soldier's going to get butchered, then dammit, he's going down proud! Tell the Jugglers that they're too late." A horrible smile stretched across Hawk's face. "In fact, tell them to thank Zaranna. She just forwarded all the files to a secured private e-mailbox and shut the website down. A friend of mine will find them an interesting read."

An inarticulate screech of rage shrilled through the night.

"ZARANNA," Zartan yelled. "Put the knife down! You can't kill him!"

"Two million dollars, Zartan," she screamed. "Those files were worth TWO MILLION!"

"The General is worth five times that much alive and half LESS dead," Zartan hissed. "Let it go!"

"We coulda milked 'em wankers for years," Zaranna panted. "'E's killed the goose that laid the golden eggs, 'e 'as! Oh, you think you're so smart, eh, Gen'ral? You think we're just going to cut your Joe up a little? You've just made things a 'ell of a lot worse for 'im! Butchered you said? I'll show you butchered! You there! Dreadnok! Don't stop with the tattoo or the scalp! Skin that Joe alive! All of him! I want 'is balls stuffed and mounted t'the back of me bike!"

As the Dreadnoks whooped, Hawk's eyes flicked between the green haired Dreadnok and Low Light. "Whatever you do," he said in an even, almost fatherly voice, "I won't think less of you. I'm just sorry I had to put you in this position." His eyes steadied on the sniper. "Always remember, Low Light…" Hawk blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears. One last word in code…

-N-U-T-S-

Low Light almost gaped.

Nuts?

"Yo Joe," a very quiet whisper hissed right into Low Light's ear.

With a start, slate gray eyes darted to the side. The green haired Dreadnok was saluting his fellow bikers below with his shiv, grinning like a loon. 

Low Light shook his head. Did he just hear…?

The green haired Dreadnok grabbed a corner of the cut flesh and laid the shiv's edge poised for skinning and waggled his eyebrows like a maniac…but the soft words that pushed out from behind his unmoving lips were sober. "Wardog said this is going to hurt, Owl. Sorry, sir." And without another pause the blade sliced right under the skin, lifting the black owl's head free of Low Light's flesh. The Dreadnoks howled at the sight of the blood.

Low Light squeezed his eyes shut, partially from the pain, but more to keep them from going wide in shocked realization.

The Dreadnok was a Joe!

"Won't be long, sir," the Covert Ops hissed. He draped the skin over the frame to dry. "Sorry, sir." He sliced into the skin again, right under the owl's talons.

Despite the pain, the sniper was about to go limp with relief when the hair on the back of his neck rose.

Something was wrong.

Without warning Low Light gave a massive heave, sending the frame rocking wildly. The Covert Ops was caught off guard. He dropped the shiv and fell with a yelp into the arms of the biker gang, who safely caught him and laughed at his stumble.

A split second later a laser beam struck the frame in a splatter of molten metal, roughly the same level where the Covert Ops' chest had been.

"THIS IS SHIELD! EVERYONE FREEZE!"

And before anyone could react, all of the lights were killed.

At the same time, two bullets struck near Low Light's wrists. He choked back the yelp of pain from the unexpected sparks and hot metal burrs, instinctively recoiling.

His hands were free.

He grabbed the frame above his head to stop from toppling forward.

Another two small bangs, this time near his ankles. He was ready for the pain this time. The chains slithered off his ankles and hit several Dreadnoks below. "The Joe's getting loose! Shoot him!"

"No ya don't," Fury's gravelly voice bellowed. "SHIELD, advance!"

"ROAD PIG DROP!"

"Don't drop 'im," Zaranna snapped. "SHOOT 'IM!"

Something landed on the frame's top.

Slate gray eyes looked up and dilated wide in the night.

A masked man clad in a black spy-jumper wearing night vision goggles wrapped his limbs around the frame and held up a 9mm Beretta with a custom made silencer. "Grab on to something, Light," a familiar golden boy's voice ordered. "YO JOE!" He shot the eyebolt anchoring the crane's cable to the frame.

The frame fell.

Low Light held to the bottom of the frame for dear life as it plummeted in the midst of gun and laser fire. The ground was coming up fast.

"JUMP," Duke yelled.

They jumped free just as the frame crashed into the crush of retreating Dreadnoks right under them. Broken Dreadnoks cushioned their landing.

Low Light had enough time to see that the Coverts Ops wasn't one of the casualties before a laser beam shot perilously close to his head. 

"Dammit, hold your fire," Carter's voice ordered harshly. "We got friendlies down there! Someone get those lights working!"

Duke rolled awkwardly to his feet, clutching his head in one hand, his Beretta nowhere in sight. "Low Light," he gasped, blindly reaching out his free hand.

The concussion, Low Light belated remembered. He grabbed Duke's hand. "We need to get you some medical---"

The hand tightened around the sniper's. "No. Get us cover," Duke told him, staggering to his feet.

Low Light hesitated. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Do it, Owl," Duke hissed. "Eagle's orders."

That did it. Low Light draped one of Duke's arms over his shoulders and helped the man to a pile of junked cars out of SHIELD's sight. Duke passed the sniper his remaining Beretta and swore with soft venamance as he clutched his aching head in both hands. 

"SHIELD won't be able to contain the Dreadnoks on their own turf in the dark," Low Light commented quietly, keeping an eye in the night.

"That was the idea," Duke whispered through his teeth. "SHIELD just barged in without coordinating with Joe. Damned rude, damned stupid, damned dangerous." Duke looked around cautiously before going on. "As it is, we almost lost a few in the crossfire. You saw."

Low Light's lips thinned. The Joes' Covert Ops. "Yeah," Low Light said. "I saw." He hesitated. "Are they---"

Duke held up his wrist com, briefly showing Low Light the text scrolling across the screen before wiping it blank. "Shaken up, but all fine." Duke grinned. "One of them says 'Thanks for the save.'"

Low Light let out a puff of relief. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Hawk's going to keel-haul your ass."

"Only if I die," Duke grunted. 

"Well well," Zartan's voice mocked in the darkness. "This IS a memorable night. For once, it seems that Cobra Commander was correct. SHIELD was indeed trolling bait for you, sister. And Executive Director Fury himself is after you! Sister, I am indeed impressed. Tell me, Director Fury, is that lovely Director Carter here as well?"

"Yer not her type," Fury growled. 

"So I hear," Zartan chuckled. "But she just hasn't met the right bad boy. The geriatric boy scout might have the equipment, but I don't think he knows how to rev her engine, if you know what I mean." 

"Watch your mouth," Hawk and Fury snapped at the same time.

"Cooo, Zartan," Zaranna said slyly. "If I'd known you fancied Carter, I'd 'ave wrapped 'er up all nice and pretty for you with the Gen'ral!"

"Keep that in mind for my birthday, sister dear," he said.

"Yer a sick bastard, ya know that," Fury spat. "Hide all ya want, Zartan. Only a matter of time now."

"Do tell," Zartan purred.

"SHIELD, spread out and find me this sicko," Fury ordered. "And someone turn on those damned lights!"

"Afraid of the dark, Director," Zartan mocked.

"Dammit," Duke spat, straightening up as Fury and Zartan traded insults. "Low Light, quick. What's the com frequency you use to contact Carter?"

"1.41 gigs XM," Low Light replied. "Why?"

"SHEILD's walking into a trap," Duke told him as he punched the frequency into his com. He pulled his Bowie knife from his boot sheath. "Light, I need you to put the gun down, sit, and hold real still. This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch."

"What---?"

"Do you trust me," Duke hissed.

"Of course---"

"Then do what I tell you, soldier," Duke snapped.

Low Light obeyed.

Duke crouched next to him. "Sorry about this, buddy," he said softly.

The knife cut into Low Light's tattooed skin. Low Light held back a hiss and choked down questions.

"C'mon, Carter, pick up," Duke muttered under his breath. He dug the knife deeper. "Dammit, where is it---"

"Carter here. Who is this?"

"Can the Dreadnoks hear you," Duke demanded in a soft voice.

There was a pause. "No," she said, lowering her voice. "Who---"

"Call me Wardog. I'm a Joe operative," Duke told her. "The Dreadnoks know about the Casualty Awareness Tracking tags you SHIELD types wear."

"We don't wear CAT tags anymore," Carter said irritably. "Too much of a liability."

"I hope to hell you're telling the truth," Duke hissed, "because they got the activation frequency."

A pause. "How do I know YOU'RE telling the truth?"

"Dammit, that's how they killed that last Clip of Black Bullets," Duke told her.

Low Light felt his skin grow cold. "What?"

"Shit," Carter spat. "Black Bullet Clip Omega, this is Director Carter. Abort, repeat, abort."

A bestial roar bellowed its rage from one of the warehouses. "A little hard, Director," a harsh voice replied. "We've already engaged with the subject Road Pig---"

"DAMMIT, PULL OUT NOW," Carter snapped.

"Zartan, I think someone's picking on me Road Pig," Zaranna said peevishly.

"Well that's not very fair, is it, sister," Zartan said.

"Your damned boyfriend's a Neandralthal tank," Hawk snapped. "What the hell are you worried about?"

"What every girl worries about," she laughed. "Coming out on top!"

"Dad, Auntie," Zanya said, her voice amused. "I think the fuzzies here needs to be taught some respect."

"Carter, WHERE IS IT," Duke roared in frustration, pressing his blood slicked finger in the gapping wound of Low Light's flesh, searching, probing…

"The bird," she said. "Bullets, cut the bird off from your tattoos, dammit, or you're going to die!"

Duke hacked at Low Light's arm with renewed frenzy. He had almost completely sliced the black owl from the sniper's skin when the knife-edge struck something metal embedded in the flesh. He levered muscles apart.

A tiny dot of green glowed back at him.

"Quite right, daughter. Sister? End this." 

"General, Director," Zaranna said gleefully, "say good-bye to your precious Bullets!"

Duke's knifepoint pried the flexible metal circuit from the bloody tissue just as the light turned from green to red. 

Low Light sagged against Duke, limp as a towel.

He didn't move.

The bloody knife fell from the Second's nerveless fingers. "Oh, God, no," Duke whispered. "Low Light?"

No response.

"Black Bullets," Fury snarled. "BULLETS! COME IN!"

Silence.

"Low Light," Hawk called out. 

Duke closed his eyes and held the sniper close, choking down tears.

"COOPER," Hawk screamed.

"Better tell Hawk I'm fine," a dry whispery voice told the Second.

Blue eyes snapped open. Through the night vision goggles Duke wore he could see Low Light turn his head to lift a corner of his lips up at him in a weak half-smile. "Why, sir," Low Light said, fluttering his lashes. "I didn't know you cared."

"You damned macabre son of a bitch," Duke swore angrily, pushing him away. "Don't you EVER do that to me again!" He pushed up his goggles and swiped his sleeve across his eyes. 

"Carter to Wardog," the woman's subdued voice came over Duke's wrist com. "Status on Agent 38?"

"Don't suppose you got a Band-Aid I can slap on this, do you," Low Light spoke into the com, trying to cover his gapping wound with the hanging flap of owl tattooed skin, still grinning.

Duke growled low in his throat and lowered his goggles back into place. "You are unfreaking believable, Light, you know that?" He lifted the com. "The ghoul's alive, but he needs medical attention. How about the rest of the Black Bullets?"

Silence.

The smile disappeared from Low Light's face. His expression turned as hard as a tombstone. "Dammit."

"You've got the last Bullet with you, Wardog," Carter confirmed somberly. "The very last…and our very best." She sighed wearily. "Save 38 for a special hit, get him out of here---"

"I can't," Duke hissed. "Not yet." He gave his knife a quick wipe and sheathed it, then pocketed the bloody circuit. "Hawk HAS to know he's alive." He picked up his Beretta. "Light, I've got point. Give me some warning if I miss anything. Carter, that area the laptop's in secured?"

"Yeah."

"We'll meet you there. Tell your Agents not to shoot us. Let's go, Light."

The two men made their cautious way back to the quadrant. Agents with flashlights and guns met them suspiciously.

"I'm Agent 38," Low Light told them. "I'd show you my ID, but…" He gestured to the hamburger remains of his SHIELD ID tattoo.

"Still enough of the bird left," one of them said. "If you're really an Agent, you know the drill. You," the Agent said, shining a light into Duke's goggles. "Hands behind your head."

Duke peeled off the goggles. "Tell you what," Duke said, stepping back and chambering his pistol. "I'll stand by, and if I see you doing something I don't like, I'll just start shooting."

"Don't be an ass," a woman's voice snapped. Beams of light moved to show a beautiful athletic woman striding towards them, her flowing blonde hair doing little to soften a hard face. "Wardog? I'm Carter. 38, give me your arm."

Duke raised his pistol.

Dozens of laser rifles whined to life.

"Cut the damned testosterone level, boys," Carter said impatiently, grabbing Low Light's bloody arm. She took something resembling a palm pilot from her belt and passed it over the tattoo. A narrow band of black light scanned the owl. "Bar code in the feathers," she explained to Duke. "Special Field Agents wear them in lieu of ID cards."

"Bull," Duke spat. "The tattoos were an excuse to slip CAT tags on the Agents. You wanted to track them and make sure they didn't talk if captured," Duke said with disgust.

"And to make sure they don't go rouge," she added defensively. "More than one Bullet has in the past." She turned a humorless smile to Low Light. "You remember, don't you, 38?"

Low Light shivered and looked away.

The scanner beeped once.

The Agents all relaxed and stood down.

"Get this Agent medical attention," she ordered. 

Several Agents hastened to obey. "It's all clean cuts," one Agent said approvingly. "The synthetic skin treatment should do the trick."

"You think so," another asked. "Better add some antibiotics in the pre-wash…"

Low Light seemed to withdraw into himself as the medical Agents treated him.

"Anyone tell you guys you've got the bedside manner of a mechanic," Duke growled.

The Agents looked at him blankly.

Duke rolled his eyes. "We need to see Hawk," he insisted.

She turned hooded blue eyes to meet hooded blue eyes. "We're still looking for him---"

"That laptop still transmitting," Duke demanded.

"Yeah---"

"That'll do. Where is it?"

She smiled grimly. "Listen for the sounds of some creative cursing." 

"Fury letting Zartan have it," Duke asked.

Her expression turned odd as she walked off. "Not…exactly."

Low Light roused enough to exchange curious looks with Duke. The two of them trotted after Carter, the medical Agents protesting but keeping up.

The laptop was still where it had been, perched on top of the junked engines, miraculously untouched by gun or laser fire, and yes, the closer they got, the louder the shouting. Fury stood squarely in front of the glowing screen, his knuckles white around the huge laser rifle he held, face stormy with rage. His lips pulled back to reveal teeth grinding together in fierce anger…but the shouting wasn't coming from him.

"…cocklebur outfit got euchered into eating drag dust! You flannel mouthed, four-flushing, beef tea swilling, highbending FLANTLANDER," Hawk roared at Fury, his voice hoarse with grief.

"Ya ain't the only CO ta have lost men here," Fury thundered.

"And who's fault is that?"

"What the hell kinda gratitude is this? The next time ya get captured---"

"'Gratitude?' 'GRATITUDE?'" Hawk let loose an inarticulate roar as he furiously rocked against his bindings. "In case you haven't noticed, you piece of chunked crow bait, I'm still in enemy hands!"

"Only temporary," Fury ground out. "We're on it."

"Do me a favor. The next time I get captured, leave me the hell alone," Hawk snapped.

Low Light recovered his surprise and stepped up next to Fury. "Hopefully there won't be a next time, sir," he said.

Hawk's black eyes fastened on him in disbelief. 

A smile tugged on the corner of Low Light's lips. "Quite a vocabulary, sir. Didn't know you had it in you."

Fury gave Low Light a casual glance and jerked his chin at him. "There. He's fine, Abernathy, so quit yer bellyachin'!" 

Hawk closed his eyes, his anger draining out of him like a shattered urn. "Thank God," he breathed. His eyes snapped open. "And Wardog?"

Duke stepped into the light and waved. 

"No casualties on the Joe side," Low Light reported.

"Too bad," Zartan sighed. "I was looking forward to giving my little Princess a leather Joe jacket."

"Yer family's a whole kennel just itchin' ta get put down, ain't they," Fury sneered.

Hawk fixed his eyes on Low Light's and blinked as Fury and Zartan bantered.

-D--L-T-S—W-H-E-R-E-

Low Light slid back to Duke and turned his back on the screen and beckoned to Carter. "Hawk's blinking Morse Code," he told them. "He wants to know where the Dreadnok lieutenants are."

"Who," Carter demanded, frowning.

"Buzzer, Torch, Ripper, Thrasher, Monkeywrench," Duke supplied. "Only Road Pig's here. Not exactly a guy I'd leave in charge."

Another animal howl tore through the night. A SHIELD Agent came crashing through a warehouse window and landed on a pile of crushed cars.

"But he's hell in a brawl," Low Light said with a wince.

Carter unslung her rifle. "Son of a---"

"No," Duke said with sudden firmness, putting a hand on her gun. "Pull your men out of the buildings."

She scowled.

"Look, I'v got a bad feeling about this," Duke hissed. "The Dreadnoks love a good fight but they lit out of here real quick, and I've only seen one hard core member and that's Road Pig. That ugly pug can take a lot of damage. Zartan's with his family and none of them look too worried. This doesn't add up. Something's WRONG. Now are we going to stand here all night or are you going to play along?"

Carter's lips thinned but she spoke into the com at her shoulder. "All units, pull back to the perimeter, repeat pull back."

"CARTER," Fury roared. "What the hell are you doin'?"

Duke cursed under his breath but Carter simply said, "That monstrosity in there is guarding something. Has to be Abernathy. We need to regroup and replan. That bruiser won't let anyone near him."

Low Light slid back next to a scowling Fury and blinked, -O-N-L-Y—P-I-G-

Hawk blinked back, P-U-L-L—O-U-T-

Low Light glanced at Carter, who nodded. He signaled back to Hawk, -D-O-N-E-

"It figures," Hawk spat. "One ugly Dreadnok and you super SHIELD types can't even get past him!"

"LOOK, kid," Fury snarled. "If ya think we're so blasted incompetent, go get yerself outta this mess!"

Hawk bared his teeth. "I think I will." He raised his voice. "ROAD PIG!"

"WHAT JOE WANT?!"

"JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW ZARANNA TASTES LIKE WINE!"

Zaranna gasped.

Hawk's lips pulled back further. "AND BREATH MINT!"

Duke and Low Light looked at each other in horror.

There was a moment of silence. 

"Run," Duke yelled, grabbing Carter's arm and pulling her along.

Low Light scooped up the laptop and dragged Fury behind him.

Road Pig let out a volcanic howl of jealousy. "ONLY ROAD PIG KISS ZARANNA!!" Enormous pieces of mechanical equipment went flying out of the warehouse, some through walls, some through the roof. "ROAD PIG **_CRUSH_** PUNY JOE!!!"

"Is he turning green in there," Fury demanded, sprinting like an Olympian.

"Don't know, don't want to know," Carter puffed, out distancing Duke.

Low Light skidded to a halt. "He's going to kill Hawk!"

"Road Pig, STOP," Zaranna cried out in a panic.

"RUN, LIGHT," Hawk ordered, his voice a whipcrack that sent the sniper running away again before he realized what he was doing.

The warehouse exploded in a fireball flash, rocking the ground like an earthquake. Low Light was knocked off his feet, almost feeling the synthetic skin bubble from the heatwave. "HAWK!"

"Still here," a voice from the laptop said shakily.

Low Light flipped the screen back up to stare at the General's pale face, un-burnt, with no sign of fire or smoke anywhere. Realization dawned in the slate gray eyes. "We've been had," he breathed. "HAWK'S NOT HERE!"

The rev of a colossal engine roared over the fire. A hulking vehicle put together like a Frankenstein monster crashed through the flaming wall and tore through the junkyard like a wild rhino. 

"The Thunder Machine," Duke snarled. "Dammit, what does it take to kill that guy!"

"All Agents, pursue the subject Road Pig," Carter snapped. "Capture alive---"

The Thunder Machine vanished.

"DAMMIT," Carter shrieked.

"Those bastards have a cloak," Fury roared.

Zaranna laughed triumphantly. "So sorry, duckies, looks like we win!"

"DAMN you, you bitch," Low Light cried out. "Hawk, WHERE ARE YOU!"

"I---" Hawk's eyes clenched in sudden pain. His eyes started to droop.

"A man the General's age needs his sleep," Zartan chided. "It's been pleasant, but we really must go now."

"See you, wankers, later," Zaranna gloated.

"TRACE THE SIGNAL," Duke yelled frantically. He shoved Low Light out of the way and grabbed the monitor. "Hawk, stay with us. HAWK!"

The General's black eyes rolled, trying to focus on Duke. "Remember---"

The screen went blank.

"HAWK!"

"Director Carter," Low Light whispered, his normally dry voice a desperate question.

"We lost the signal," Carter said quietly. Her face softened as she touched Low Light's stricken face. "I'm sorry."

Fury put a hand on Duke's shoulder. "Son---"

"Don't touch me, you bastard," Duke snarled, striking the hand away. 

Fury took the hint and backed off. "They won't kill him."

Duke curled into a tight ball. His whole body shook as if holding back a heart-rending howl. 

The hair on the back of Low Light's neck rose.

"No," Duke finally gasped. "They won't kill him." He leaned his forehead against the screen. "I'll remember you, Hawk," he whispered. "I'll remember you."


	13. Keening

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*This is a rough Gaelic-English Glossary for some phrases uttered in this chapter:

__

"Bauchle!" = "Useless!"

__

"Ye sassenach cu!" = "You lowland dog!"

*This chapter is for several readers who raised a very valid question…

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

BeachHead herded Stalker and his strike squad out of the WarRoom double time, the roaring of the two World War II vets practically chasing them out. Jinx, right behind BeachHead, hit the door controls. The heavy steel slammed hard behind her heels.

Even through the thick door, the sounds of muffled shouting could still be heard.

"Whoa," Adams breathed, wide eyed.

"Oh, MAN," Rock n'Roll exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his forehead and newly clean-shaven jaw. "Do you know who that guy was?"

"BeachHead? Stalker? Talk to us, guys," Heavy Duty said, his nimble fingers nervously moving at his sides. "What's going on?"

BeachHead spun around and jabbed a finger at the Joes. "Not a word about ANYTHING you just heard," he ordered.

"We don't even understand what we heard," Rock n'Roll complained.

"Only thing any of us needs to understand," Stalker said, exchanging a grim look with BeachHead, "is that Hawk's extraction just got a hell of a lot trickier."

"Give me access to those satellite images," Steve roared at the monitor.

"Give me those damned files," Fury shot back from the Chicago junkyard, hundreds of miles away.

"How deaf have you gotten? I DON'T HAVE THEM!" 

"Cheap crack, Rogers," Fury grounded out, the ember of his cigar glowing menacingly. "And I don't believe ya."

"Are you calling me a liar," Steve demanded.

"Ya called me one enough times."

"The difference is that you ARE a liar, Nick!"

"That's besides the point---"

"You're right," Steve said curtly. "It is. We need to find Hawk. We only have that one set of co-ordinates we managed to lock onto before the signal got cut. Our best bet of finding Hawk now is if the SHIELD spy satellites---"

"Let's get back ta the part about the signal," Fury said, puffing heavily on his stogie. "Slick piece of programmin'. I'm assumin' Abernathy's pet hackers set that up."

"HEY," a woman's voice yelped over the speakers. "I am no one's pet any---uh-oh."

"FIREWALL," Mainframe's disembodied voice yelled.

"Naw, don't scold her," Fury said mildly. "I've been dyin' ta hear from one of ya 'reformed' hackers." Fury let a smile curl over his face. "Ya know what's goin' ta happen ta yer parole now that Abernathy's been declared a traitor, don't ya, little girl?"

Steve slammed his fist against the steel table, denting the surface and making Lady Jaye jump. "You leave my people alone, Nick," Steve growled, the veins in his neck bulging. 

"'Yer' people," Fury asked blandly.

"MY people," Steve said through his teeth. 

"Well, YER people set the program up fer Abernathy, so either they know what's on those files or they know who have them now." Fury chompped on the stogie with a fierce grin. "So which is it, little girl?"

"Bite me," she snapped.

"FIREWALL," Steve bellowed. "Get off this line!"

"But that ass---"

"GIVE me that," Mainframe snapped. "Mainframe and Firewall signing off."

"Slipshod and sassy. Ya really wanna be in charge of that," Fury asked, amused.

"He doesn't need to justify himself to you," Lady Jaye said in a dangerously soft voice.

"And what's yer beef, Lady," Fury demanded.

"People I care about are in ICU, no thanks to you," Jaye said coldly. 

"Can't blame me fer that," Fury said. "I'm not the one who didn't share intel about Dreadnoks disguise masters---"

__

"Bauchle," she skirled.

"NICK," Steve roared, holding Jaye back by her stiff shoulders. "You're out of line! And blast it, you are NOT getting us off track! GIVE ME ACCESS TO SHIELD'S SPY SATILITES! THESE SOLDIERS NEED THEIR GENERAL BACK!"

"Do they need their General back, or are ya anxious ta unload 'em?" 

Steve flushed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Fury smirked. "Hard ta run an outfit if ya don't want the job."

"I may not want the job but I can do it just fine," Steve snapped, bristling. "I ran the Avengers, I can run GI Joe."

"Bet I can run it better," Fury said.

"You're getting childish now, Nick."

"Just statin' fact. We both know ya suck at politics. What do ya think Abernathy fought more than Cobra? I'll tell ya. Red tape. Lobbyists." He took a long puff. "Jugglers." He took the stubby cigar out of his mouth and flicked it at Steve's image. "But if ya wanna run Joe fer a while, go ahead. I can wait fer ya ta wise up." He snorted. "Better yer in charge than a Jugglers' boy anyways. 'Least the Joes might get some real work done."

Steve glared at the spy with blazing blue eyes. "Gee, Nick. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Why the hell are ya acceptin' a military commission after all this time anyways, Cap? Thought ya were all about bein' a regular ol' American these days. Man of the people." Fury savagely bit off the end of a new cigar and spat it out. "Civilian." 

"The country was calling me to service again," Steve began.

"Bull," Fury said bluntly, lighting up his cigar. He took a few beginning puffs. "Yer doin' this because the kid asked."

"I saw it as the same thing," Steve bristled.

"It ain't and ya know it," Fury said. 

"Why do you care, Nick," Steve demanded. 

Fury let out a long plume of smoke before answering. "Believe it or not, I'm worried about ya, Cap," he said softly. "Ya got this habit of latchin' onto folks 'cause they remind ya of ghosts."

"If you're so worried about me, Nick, then give me access to those satellites," Steve hissed. "Help me get the kid back."

"Cap," Fury said, his gravelly voice oddly gentle. "Steve. I'm sorry. Sorry ya couldn't save him back then, sorry that ya can't save this kid now. Even if ya could get him away from Cobra…Cap, he's gonna face the firing squad. Ain't nuthin' ya can do about that. Do ya really wanna rescue him just ta get him shot by his own country?"

"We have witnesses sitting in the stockade," Steve said. "We can clear his name."

"No," Fury said regretfully. "Ya can't."

"Why," Steve asked, his voice flat.

"Two words. Li Hueah," Fury said. "Take a real good look at the arrest warrant. Got an e-copy of it in front of me. More than one treason charge here." He bowed his head and chompped down hard on his cigar. "Guess the Jugglers wanted ta make sure he went down hard, damn those bastards."

"And who's fault is that," Jaye demanded.

Fury's head snapped up. "Ya think we set Abernathy up first? Well, sorry ta shock ya, Lady, but we weren't!" 

Blue eyes and green narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean," Steve demanded.

Fury just sighed. 

"Start talking, Nick," Steve growled. "And tell us the TRUTH."

"The truth?" Fury took a long drag on his cigar before answering, his eye glittering, considering. "The only truth ya need ta know is that it's better ta leave the kid where he is right now," Fury finally said. "He's too valuable fer Cobra ta try and kill him. Long as he keeps his trap shut, they won't try ta kill him." 

Steve shook his head violently, as if trying to clear it. "Are you saying abandoning him to Cobra is good," he demanded incredulously. "Just who are you trying to convince of that, me or you?"

Fury snorted and rolled his eye. "It's a damn sad statement, I know, but it IS better fer him ta be with the snakes than in the Jugglers' reach." 

"Cobra will torture him," Jaye said coldly. 

"He won't break," Fury said dismissively.

"Everyone breaks, Nick," Steve said.

"The kid's a lot like ya, Cap," Fury told him. "He ain't gonna break."

"They'll use the Brainwave Scanner on him," Jaye said forcefully.

Steve turned to her sharply. "The what?"

"A device that reads minds," Jaye said. "It also brainwashes people and plants false memories. They'll rip everything Hawk knows, everything that he is from him and destroy him." She glared at Fury, her eyes bright emerald flames. "Do you have any idea what kind of damage Cobra could do with the kind of intel he knows? If you think the Dreadnoks waltzing around SHIELD for the Jugglers was a security breach, just wait until Cobra sucks Hawk's brain dry! And what they'll do to him afterwards---" She shuddered. "I would rather pull the trigger myself than let them do that to Hawk. He'd want a clean death." 

Steve's eyes glowed with rage. "Give me those satellite images NOW!"

Fury closed his eye and sighed. "Yer goin' after him no matter what, ain't ya?"

"I have to," Steve said in a low, intense voice. 

Fury opened his eye, his face softening. "Yeah. I suppose ya do." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Gimme the co-ordinates."

"Why don't you just give us access to your satellites," Jaye asked acidically.

"Don't be dumb, Lady," Fury snorted. "If I ain't givin' access ta Cap, what the hell makes ya think I'm givin' 'em ta a bunch of hackers---sorry, 'REFORMED' hackers?" He held out a hand and waggled his fingers. "Gimme the co-ordinates, Cap. My whiz kids'll take a look at recordin's of the area durin' the past coupla hours, see if they can spot the transport Abernathy's on, track it ta it's destination."

Steve hesitated.

"I promise not ta move without ya this time," Fury sighed heavily. "Look, I'll even come and personally drop yer boy Wardog off, 38 too if he wants back inta Joe. AND I'll hand deliver the satellite intel ta ya myself." 

Still Steve hesitated.

"And if ya want, I could come along," he said casually. "If Cobra's got Abernathy holed up over the borders, a little SHIELD influence could cut through the International red tape," he snapped his fingers, "like that."

"Why so helpful all of the sudden, Nick," Steve asked suspiciously.

Fury crossed his arms, chewing on his stogie, carefully choosing his words. "I lost seventeen men, Cap. Won't lie and pretend we were close. Hell, I didn't even like OR trust any of them, really. But they were my men." He grinned mirthlessly. "These punk ass yahoos have ta learn that ya can't mess with SHIELD and get away with it." 

"If revenge is your priority then you can sit this out," Steve said sharply. 

Fury's grin vanished. "It ain't revenge. It's a warning. It's a messy, ugly job, but it needs ta get done and hammered home fast or they'll try it again. It's a responsibility I won't delegate, Cap. 'Specially not ta you of all folks. I'm down ta my last Black Bullets. Only right fer it ta be my finger on the trigger." 

Lady Jaye suddenly threw her head back and peeled with ugly laughter. "That's the real reason you went to Chicago tonight, isn't it, Fury? Black Bullets aren't a part of rescue operations, are they? Doesn't sound like it's in their job description. You were there to give them back up support while they tried to make 'examples' of whichever of the Dreadnoks they could get their hands on! Rescuing Low Light was just a bonus! Tell me, Fury," she skirled, "if Hawk WAS there, would you have saved him or let Cobra have him because," her voice twisted mockingly with deadly accuracy, "'it's better fer him ta be with the snakes?'" 

"Ya REALLY don't think much of me, do ya?"

Jaye barred her teeth. "I don't hear you denying it."

"Believe what ya want, doll---"

"Don't call me 'doll,'" Jaye snapped.

"ENOUGH," Steve roared. "Nick, our objective is Hawk and survival. Nothing else. If you have our backs, I need to trust you. If you're not with us, you're against us. Simple as that."

"Not so simple, Cap. World ain't black and white."

"I'm not asking you to save the world, Nick, I'm asking if I can trust you at my troops' backs."

A drawn out sigh whispered over the speakers. "Yeah. Ya can."

Steve stared hard at the spy's image for a long moment. "I'm risking a lot on a very strained friendship," Steve finally said. "My life's not the only one at stake here, Nick. We're talking about my troops. My partners." His voice softened as his eyes took on a far away look. "I made a promise a long time ago that I'd never lose a partner ever again. Don't make me a liar, Nick." His voice dropped even lower. "I'm not sure I'd be able to forgive you if you do." 

A pained look flashed across Fury's face. "I get it," he said softly. 

"Good. Mainframe," Steve said.

"Here, sir."

"Transmit Hawk's last known co-ordinates to Director Fury."

"Yes, sir."

Fury's eye flicked to one side of the screen. "Got 'em. Feedin' 'em ta the Helicarrier. I'll be at Wright-Patterson in a few hours. My whiz kids oughta have a location by then." 

"Good. Just one more thing, Nick." 

The pebbly eye slid warily to lock with Steve's. "Yeah?"

"Is it true," Steve asked neutrally. "About Hueah?"

Silence.

"Nick?"

"I'll be there in a few," the spy said in a subdued voice. "Fury out."

Steve stared at the blank screen. Silence hung heavily in the WarRoom. "You want to say something, Lady Jaye," Steve asked, his voice steady.

Her voice was professional, clipped. "It may not be politic for me to do so. Sir."

"You disagree with my decision."

She lifted her chin. "Yes, sir."

He looked at her over his shoulder. "Hawk's last known co-ordinates were over the North Atlantic. I'm betting that Cobra's taking him to somewhere in Europe. Unlike my UN clearance, Fury's can extend to military troops. He'll get us around quicker."

"Hawk wouldn't approve," she said, scowling.

"I'm not letting Hawk die because of a pissing contest between him and Nick," he said sharply.

"Fury can get a toe hold in Joe through this," Jaye pointed out.

Steve shook his head and leaned his hip against the table. "I don't buy that BS about wanting additional anti-terrorist specialists, not even in this day and age. SHIELD is too big for him and Sharon to handle as it is. And all that talk about protecting Joe from the Jugglers sounds like a maneuvering bluff." 

"He's up to something," Jaye said.

"I know." He rubbed his neck, rotating it, trying to loosen tight muscles, cracking off flakes of dried mud in the process. "But I can't worry about Nick's hidden agendas. I have to trust that he's in this to help us." 

She gave him a skeptical look as she rubbed her forehead, dusting hardened mud from her fingertips. "You trust him that much?"

"Of course I trust him that much. He's my friend. We fought in the Big One together. Saved each other's lives, bled together." Steve sat down in front of a computer station's keyboard. "Mainframe, patch me into Wardog's com for a text messaging."

"Yes, sir."

"What are you doing," Jaye asked, standing behind him.

"Just getting caught up on some correspondence," he said mildly, typing a curt message.

WARDOG

EYES ON RAVEN AND 13. SNIFF OUT HIDDEN KNIFE.

EAGLE

"Now, as I was saying," Steve went on, "you get to know a person pretty well once he's bled all over you. Some people say a kind of bond forms." He shrugged. "I've never been that fey, but when you've been through as much as Nick and I have, you know you can depend on the other---"

A flash across the screen caught both of their attentions.

EAGLE

UNDERSTOOD.

WARDOG/ OWL

"---without hesitation," Steve continued without missing a beat. He cut the connection to Duke's com, spun his chair to face Jaye and spread his arms wide. "So I can honestly say without reservation, yes, we can trust Nick."

Jaye arched an eyebrow. "Because we'll have plenty of warning if he double crosses us?"

"You got it."

She frowned. "Good idea," she murmured distractedly.

"Something on your mind," he asked.

She dropped her eyes. "It's none of my business."

"Out with it, Bird Lady."

She looked at him with troubled eyes. "How can you stay with someone you don't trust?"

His blue eyes narrowed defensively. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. "You mean Sharon."

"Yes."

"What makes you think I don't trust her?"

Jaye gestured at the screen. "Low Light told me her Agent number is 13."

He grimaced. 

"And…I heard you practically admit to Hawk that you don't like her."

His face hardened. "You're right. It's none of your business."

She looked away. "I'm sorry. "

He sighed a rubbed a hand over his face. "The heart wants what the heart wants," he told her softly. "You can try to deny it, reason against it, fight it…" He shook his head.

Jaye pulled out her dog-tag chain from under her shirt. Two gold rings, one plain and one curled around a small, brightly cut diamond hung from it. She cupped the rings her hand. "Doesn't do any good, does it?"

He smiled wanly. "No. It doesn't." He touched her hand. "In all the craziness I never got a chance to ask…how are you holding up?"

She sat next to him and gripped the rings tightly to her chest. The professional mask she had kept up all night slipped. "It hurts," she whispered. "Before…I thought I knew what Hawk went through when he lost his wife…but…"

"You're not losing Flint," Steve said, gripping her hands in his. 

She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

"Jaye," Steve said gently. "You've already gone above and beyond the call of duty tonight. If you want to stay…?"

She took a deep breath and, before Steve's eyes, the professional mask slipped back into place. "Flint and I are both soldiers, Captain. We've discussed this possibility…one of us being badly hurt while the other was needed for duty." She lifted her chin. "We agreed to stay the course and do our duty. Just tell me what you need and I'll do it."

Steve pulled his hands back and regarded her carefully. "I need you to promise me something."

"I won't go on a vendetta spree," she said. "You can count on me to follow your orders. Get Hawk and survive, right?"

"Yes, but that's not what I was going to ask."

She arched an eyebrow.

He sighed. "No matter what goes down…promise me you won't shut down."

Jaye frowned. "I don't understand."

"I saw a good solider turn into a ruthless killing machine when his family was murdered. He never let anyone or anything close to him again, no friends, no dreams, nothing. To him there were only allies or enemies, the guilty and the innocent. The only thing he lived for was punishing the people he saw as evil." He spread his Greenshirt top further apart and pulled up the chainmail underneath, exposing a hideously jagged sunburst scar over his heart. "And sometimes he was wrong." 

Jaye's green eyes widened. "What happened?"

"He shot me," Steve told her. "Chainmail stopped the bullet but the shrapnel tore up my chest. He thought I was dirty." Steve tucked his shirts back into place. "He learned the truth a little later on his own."

Jaye clutched the rings to her chest. "I think you've made your case, Steve," she said thickly.

Steve's demeanor gentled. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just…I don't want to see another good solider fall into that pit. Not if I can help it."

"Guiding stars,'" she murmured.

"What?"

A small smile lifted her lips. "Something Hawk told me once." She touched the muddied white star emblazoned on his chest. "'As long as I have my guiding stars, I'll never lose my way.'"

Steve smiled and gently enfolded her in a comforting embrace. They stayed that way for a moment, sharing the warmth of silent camaraderie. 

"We should get BeachHead and the others from the hall," she said finally, pulling away. "They're probably wondering what the hell's going on."

"I can debrief BeachHead and the others without you," Steve said. "Go on. Get cleaned up. Go to Flint. You've got a few hours before SHIELD comes."

She flashed him a grateful smile and rose from her chair.

"Jaye."

She turned.

"I meant it. You've more than done your duty tonight. If I thought I could get Hawk without taking you from Flint---"

"I know," she interrupted. She smiled to take the sting out of her words. "But you warbird types have no finesse. You need a Jay Bird in your coop." She turned and opened the door.

BeachHead nearly knocked her over in his rush to get inside. "Captain America, we've got a problem!" Jinx, Stalker and the strike squad poured in after him.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose as Jaye threw up her hands. "Now what?"

BeachHead strode to the monitor and hit a button. A news program turned on, showing a frozen fireball hanging over Wright-Patterson Medical Center. "Those damned reporters were camped just outside the base. They got the whole damn firefight on tape." He switched to another station. "And someone managed to set up a live press conference with the Base Commander."

A stout General in blue was addressing a group of reporters just outside the front steps of the Medical Center. Four stars gleamed from each shoulder.

Jaye marched back to the monitor. "Is that a Havana rolled cigar he's smoking?"

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Turn it up."

"---until proven guilty," the stout General's voice boomed. "But these actions, I'm ashamed to say, speaks louder than any protestations of innocence. Indeed, General Abernathy damns himself with his own words." He held up a CD. "I have here recordings of the radio chatter between the attacking Huey and the rest of GI Joe." He shook his head sadly. "It grieves me that a man of General Abernathy's reputation could betray the trust placed in him by the President for the sake of an adulterous relationship with a woman under his command, the wife of his Third---"

Jaye's fist slammed down on the controls, cutting the transmission. _"Ye sassenach cu!"_

"You said that's live, right," Steve demanded. 

"Yes, sir. Local and national," BeachHead confirmed. 

Steve thought quickly, weighing his options. "People," he said slowly. "Talk to me. If I were to dispute this on air, tell the truth, what are the chances of us getting to Hawk before Cobra kills him…or worse?"

BeachHead and Stalker exchanged glances with Jinx. As one, they turned to Jaye.

Lady Jaye looked at Steve, livid with anger and fear. "If the truth came out, the Commander would feel cornered, threatened. He'd take what he could from Hawk and dump him. Hawk's chances would be nil. If the Commander heard THIS garbage…" She choked on her pride.

"If the Commander heard this, undisputed," Jinx said softly, "if he's confident he has the upper hand, he'll take the time to gloat in front of Hawk. Twist the knife." She bowed her head. "It'd…give us time to get Hawk, safe."

Jaye buried her face in her hands, thinking of her husband's pride, his temper…the maddening insecure jealousy that had left him and Lifeline wide open to the gas attack…all masks to protect the vulnerability that he showed only to her. She shuddered at what the whispers of infidelity could do to him if he were to wake up.

Then she thought of Hawk, the man she had lashed out at hours ago under the excuse of posing as a grieving mother rather than a grieving wife…her CO, her friend, the closest thing she had to a father…

…the man who had bled all over her as she saved his life.

Almost against her will, she found herself whispering, "Let the story slide." 

Silence fell. Adams bit her lip and clutched the sniper rifle she held closer to her heart.

"God help me," Jaye gasped, raking them all with tear filled eyes, "let the story slide."


	14. Migration

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
**Just want to reiterate that this is fiction and I did NOT model the Fort Wright-Patterson Base Commander in this story after the real one. I wish the real deal the best of health and happiness.  
  
***This chapter has been rewritten as of August 15, 2003. For those of you who are re-reading this, it is mostly unchanged but it has a new section in the middle. I hope you like it^_^  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------ .  
  
.  
  
.  
  
A knock sounded over the blaring TV. "General," the muffled voice of a young man called out loudly through the heavy oak doors. "General, that group of reporters are here---"  
  
"Go away!"  
  
A slight moment of hesitation. "But, sir, you told me you were quite anxious to clear up any questions they had for you concerning General Aber-- -"  
  
"I SAID GO AWAY! GET THEM OUT OF HERE BEFORE I COURT-MARTIAL YOU, LEIUTENANT!"  
  
"Yes, SIR!"  
  
Loud protests and offended shouts suddenly rose up and filled the hall outside the oak doors. The knobs of the heavy wooden doors rattled as some of the more daring members of the Fifth Estate tried to barge into the locked room, but they were quickly escorted away.  
  
But not quickly enough for the General's nerves.  
  
For once, the heavyset General in blue wasn't smoking.  
  
He was sweating.  
  
"What do you mean you lost the files," he hissed into the phone's receiver. "You promised me---"  
  
"I promised we'd destroy Hawk," Zaranna's cut in, her voice sounding tinny over the speakerphone she used. "And we did. The files were just a bonus-- -"  
  
"Don't split hairs with me, woman, you agreed to that contract!"  
  
"And we'll fill it, luv, don't you worry," she cooed. "It's just going to take us a bit longer is all." She tsked. "Really should 'ave checked with us first before going on the air like that, duck. I figure whoever gots them files now are right pissed with you Juggler types. No telling what the bloke might do."  
  
"WHO HAS THEM," the General demanded, clutching the phone in both hands.  
  
"Don't know," Zaranna said cheerfully. "Yet. Don't worry, luv---"  
  
"'Don't worry,'" he repeated incredulously.  
  
"---we'll get it out of Hawk. 'E's tough, but all nuts crack."  
  
"Crack him open then kill him," the man ordered. "He's too dangerous alive- --"  
  
"Sure 'e ain't too dangerous dead," Zaranna asked shrewdly.  
  
"Do you know what a dead Joe CO is," the General asked. He slammed his fist against his desk. "DEAD. The Joes never held up martyrs before, they're not going to now." He finally allowed himself a tight smile. "Especially with all this bad press besmirching his 'good' name." The smile vanished and he jabbed the air emphatically with his finger. "I want the intel, then I want him DEAD. I don't care how, just kill him. Is that clear?"  
  
"Yes, General Winters," Hawk's voice grated right into his ear. "Crystal clear."  
  
The man froze.  
  
"Bloody 'ell," Zaranna sighed. "Zanya! Weren't you supposed t' keep the good Gen'ral under for Aunty?"  
  
"I ain't a old folks home nurse," a girl stated sullenly over the speakerphone.  
  
"I see you, Winters," Hawk rasped. "See you sweating in your chair."  
  
General Winters sprang to his feet and whirled, eyes darting all over his darkened office.  
  
"Don't let 'im get t'you, Gen'ral," Zaranna said soothingly. "'E's playing mind games with you is all. Zanya, fill that needle and give it t'the Gen'ral, be a good duck."  
  
"Quack quack."  
  
"Don't you give me lip, girl."  
  
"You...should sweat, Winters," Hawk gasped, his words starting to slur. "You moved...too soon..." He laughed deep in his throat. "There's still...a musketball...with...your name...on...it."  
  
"Damn you, Abernathy," he whispered.  
  
"I'll give you...credit...for trying to," Hawk sneered. "But...not...much...else!"  
  
"I don't think you gave 'im enough, ducky."  
  
"Give it a minute, Aunty dearest."  
  
"You're...a fool...to trust 'Noks," Hawk hissed. "They're Cobra's---mph!"  
  
"Zanya," Zaranna said sharply over Hawk's muffled protests. "Give 'im more!"  
  
"Alright," she huffed, "but if he croaks too soon, don't go blaming me."  
  
"Wait," Winters boomed. "What was he trying to say?"  
  
"Nothing important, luv. There, now, 'e's all peaceful again."  
  
"Zaranna," Winters growled.  
  
"Zaranna, Zanya," another man's voice called out over the speakerphone, "we're almost at the drop point. Secure the cargo."  
  
"'Drop point,'" Winters repeated. "Just where the hell are you?"  
  
"Well, it's been fun chatting with you, Gen'ral," Zaranna said sweetly. "Love t'continue, but I've got a date with a parachute."  
  
"Zaranna---"  
  
"And don't you worry, luv, we'll get you your intel." Her voice hardened. "Just don't you forget me account number in the Caymans." She laughed suddenly, and merrily said, "Toodles."  
  
And Winters found himself listening to a dial tone.  
  
With nerveless fingers he set his receiver back in its cradle and fell back into his comfortable black leather chair. He replayed the conversation in his mind as he reached for the humidor holding his precious Cuban cigars.  
  
The phone rang.  
  
He hesitated.  
  
It rang again.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone. "Winters," he said curtly.  
  
"General, this is Colonel Lyle."  
  
Winters grimaced. "This better be important, Colonel. I don't have time to listen to every infraction your MP's found on this base."  
  
"No, sir, I wouldn't call you at Oh-Dark-Hundred for that. I just received several unusual reports, one from my men on stockade duty. I know this will be hard to believe, but they said that one of the GI Joe squads threw Major Kenner into their custody."  
  
Winters felt his skin go cold. "Are you sure," he croaked.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Why wasn't I told," he thundered.  
  
"I just learned about this myself. My men assumed the Major had too much to drink," the Colonel said crisply, his voice disapproving. "I believe they wanted to give him a chance to sober up without anyone the wiser but the Joe squad leader, I believe they call him Spirit, was pressing some pretty serious charges against the Major."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Attempted murder."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"My reaction exactly, sir."  
  
"Who did he try---allegedly try to kill?"  
  
"Apparently GI Joe's Top Kick."  
  
Winters put his hand over the receiver and swore under his breath.  
  
"That's not all, sir," the Colonel went on. "At first this Spirit was pretty insistent that the Major be charged. But then he got a message on those wrist coms the Joes have, and he turned right around and said they were taking the Major to the Medical Center for psychiatric evaluation."  
  
Winters felt himself relax. He still had one operative left in the Medical Center to take care of Kenner and his stupidity before he talked. "Have you informed General Maddox about his men's aberrant behavior?"  
  
A pause. "No, sir." Another pause. "Sir...General Maddox is in ICU."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
"The Joes said he had a heart attack---"  
  
"'The Joes said?' 'THE JOES SAID?'" He throttled the receiver in both hands and screamed, "WHO'S IN CHARGE OF THE JOES?"  
  
A long silence.  
  
Winters took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I asked you a question, Colonel."  
  
"Yes, sir," the Colonel said coolly. "Unfortunately, the Joes wouldn't tell them. They said the new CO's identity is Classified. For security purposes. And..."  
  
"And what," Winters growled.  
  
"Frankly, sir, I can't blame them for being paranoid."  
  
"Well I can," the General snapped. "Get me Kenner! I don't care how drunk he is---"  
  
"Ah..."  
  
"What now?"  
  
"The Joes won't let us near him. They didn't take him to the psychiatric ward, they took him to the ICU floor and, well, they've barricaded themselves up there---"  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"---and their assigned underground restricted zones. They're allowing one pair of MP's to the ICU floor at a time, but that's all. And my men can't get past the reception area. It seems the Joes have recruited one of the regular ICU nurses from the Medical Center into their ranks and...well, she was given strict orders not to let anyone without proper clearance in and by thunder, the old biddy wouldn't let my men in! Not even at gunpoint!"  
  
"Why didn't they arrest her," Winters demanded.  
  
"Because the Joe's cook asked them not to."  
  
"What kind of answer is that?"  
  
"The man was tapping a fully loaded .50 caliber Browning M-2 against his shoulder while he asked."  
  
The General blinked.  
  
"But he did escort my men to see the Joe in charge of security on the floor, that pretty red-head from the TV news interview. She said not to worry about the patients on the ICU floor, they managed to get doctors from somewhere. She wouldn't confirm it, but my men said the doctors smelled like spooks."  
  
Winters became very, very still.  
  
"She also said..." The Colonel's voice turned puzzled. "She told them to pass this message from her CO to you. She said, 'We have it.'"  
  
Winters felt his mouth dry.  
  
"I have no idea what that meant. Do you, sir?"  
  
The General passed a trembling hand over his sweaty face.  
  
"General Winters? Sir?"  
  
"Leave the Joes alone," he whispered.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I said leave them alone," he said harshly.  
  
"Even Lady Jaye? You said you wanted us to---"  
  
"Are you deaf, Colonel," Winters barked. "Leave them the hell alone!" He slammed the phone down. For several long minutes, he shook in the dark.  
  
He took a deep breath.  
  
And another.  
  
Finally he straightened up and dialed a number. "Our circle," he said, his deep voice suddenly too tight, "has a problem."  
  
****************************************  
  
Colonel Lyle stared at the cell phone buzzing in his hand.  
  
Scarlet leaned forward in her seat and shook the man's knee. "Colonel?"  
  
The Colonel shook himself and hung up the phone. "I was hoping you were wrong." He stood and clasped his hands behind his back, pacing the tiny break room behind the ICU nurses' station. "I just lied to my CO. With held intel."  
  
"I wouldn't have asked you to do it if it wasn't necessary," she said. She stepped in the Colonel's path and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know what it cost you to do that."  
  
The Colonel regarded her for a long moment. Slowly, he shook his head. "No, Commander. I don't think you do. Not really." Absently, he rubbed the heavily engraved ruby-topped gold ring on his right hand. "Not many people can."  
  
There was a knock on the door followed by Nurse Appleton's muffled voice calling out, "It's the Captain, dear."  
  
"Send him in," Scarlet told her.  
  
Captain America, fully clad in a fresh Greenshirt uniform, slipped in. At the sight of Colonel Lyle he stopped short with surprise. Both the Colonel and Scarlet snapped to attention and fired off salutes. "At ease," Steve told them, returning the gesture. He shut the door. "Scarlet. Do you have an explanation," he asked neutrally, nodding to Lyle.  
  
"Sir," Scarlet said formally. "This is Colonel Walter Lyle. He commands the MPs here at Wright-Patterson." She took a deep breath. "He's also agreed to assist us in keeping the Base Commander in the dark about...certain things."  
  
Steve looked at her sharply. "I didn't ask you to do that, solider."  
  
"Well you should have," she snapped. "I'm Counter-Intelligence, dammit! It's my job to feed the enemy false intel so YOU can do yours. USE me!"  
  
Steve's eyes sparked as he opened his mouth...and shut it with a snap. "I'm...not used to directing Counter-Intelligence," Steve admitted.  
  
Scarlet's expression didn't soften. "Because you find it distasteful?"  
  
Steve looked her straight in the eye. "Yes."  
  
"Well," Scarlet said. "So do I. But it needs to be done."  
  
"Apparently," Steve grimaced. He took a deep breath. "So what have you two been feeding the Base Commander?"  
  
"Mostly the truth," Scarlet said, "except we didn't tell him you're here."  
  
Colonel Lyle nodded. "And I told my men who knows you're on base that you're presence here is Top Secret. They won't blab."  
  
"It'll take the Base Commander a little while to discover that you're the new Joe CO, Captain," Scarlet continued. "And it should take even longer for him to figure out that you're not on base." Then she grinned maliciously. "But we told him that you have the item, so that should stall him long enough for you to get Hawk home, ready for the warpath."  
  
Colonel Lyle scowled. "And that's the only reason I'm going along with this."  
  
Steve blinked. "How do you know about---"  
  
"There's always an item," Scarlet said impatiently. "Doesn't matter if you have it or not, so long as HE believes you do."  
  
Steve blinked again. "Mother and Country," he breathed. "You're evil."  
  
"I'm pissed," she corrected. "And I'll take it out on whoever I can however I can."  
  
Steve pulled at his collar a bit. "Well, get it under control, Commander. We've got another hovercar coming in and I think it's hauling in our boys this time."  
  
"About damned time," she muttered, grabbing her crossbow.  
  
Steve turned to the Colonel and clapped the younger man's shoulder. "Thank you, Colonel. Hawk must be a very good friend for you to be doing this."  
  
He shook his head with a grimace. "Actually, the only time I ever talk with General Tomahawk is when one of his misfits gets into more than the usual amount of mischief. And it's usually not pleasant when we, ahem, converse."  
  
Steve's face contorted into a frown. "Then why---"  
  
Colonel Lyle held up his ring, showing the side with Pallas Athena's helmet and sword stamped under the words 'Duty, Honor, Country.'  
  
Understanding dawned in the Captain's clear blue eyes.  
  
"He's a West Pointer," Scarlet confirmed out loud. "Like Hawk. That's why I felt I could trust him."  
  
"I won't lie any further and claim to understand or even approve of any of this," the Colonel said, drawing himself up, "but when a brother of the Long Gray Line calls for help, you can bet your last purple heart that he will be answered!"  
  
************************************  
  
The colored sanctuary glass proudly marked with the words 'Duty, Honor, and Country' shattered inwards like a hail of rainbows. Snakes poured in by the scores, hundreds, tearing through the starry flags flying from the walls, undulating all over the pews and gray granite floor. Low Light drew his knife and slashed desperately at the writhing tide, trying to cut a swath through them, but there were so many---  
  
Something clamped down hard on his wrist. He cried out as his blade was wrenched from him. He grappled with the heavy coils of the serpents, trying to break free but he was slammed roughly against his back.  
  
Pinned.  
  
Trapped.  
  
"LIGHT, snap out of it!"  
  
"I've got a tranq here---"  
  
"No more damned drugs," a familiar voice snarled.  
  
The sniper blinked rapidly in the pre-dawn light, staring blankly into the face of a masked man in SHIELD blue.  
  
"It's me. Wardog. C'mon, buddy, remember? Yo Joe?"  
  
Duke.  
  
Low Light closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, nodding to Duke. "Yo Joe."  
  
The Joe Second cautiously lifted his forearm from Low Light's chest and helped him sit up, careful of the sniper's cut up arm. "He's OK."  
  
"Ya sure," Fury asked skeptically from the front seat of the hovercar, eyeing the panting sniper.  
  
"Yes," Duke said through grit teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing headache the struggle aggravated. Holding his head stiffly, Duke scooped the fallen knife from the hovercar's floor. "I was expecting a rough nap, Light," Duke said, eyeing the sniper as passed the blade back hilt first, "but what the hell was that?"  
  
Low Light ran the sleeve of his borrowed SHIELD jumper over his forehead. "A bad one." He took the knife back sheepishly and sheathed it. "Real sorry about that, Du-Dog." Low Light took a deep breath, smoothing the hairs at the nape of his neck. "Must have been the drugs."  
  
"Well, whatever ya got shot up with, I hope it's out of yer system now," Fury said gruffly, popping open the doors. "'Cause we're here."  
  
They were back on the helipad of Wright-Patterson's Medical Center.  
  
Fury rapped on the roof of his hovercar. "C'mon," he grated. "Don't be shy. Yer home now."  
  
Low Light reluctantly swung his legs out of the hovercar. "Yeah," he said gloomily. "We're home." Duke slapped him encouragingly on the back and gave him a gentle shove out the hovercar.  
  
Carter was leaning against the hood of the hovercar, arms crossed and waiting for them. She glowered at Fury. "I should be going with you."  
  
"Hell no," Fury said calmly, chewing on his unlit stogie. "Someone needs ta be runnin' SHIELD."  
  
"And how long will you be gone this time," she asked, her voice biting.  
  
"As long as we need ta be," Fury said, pulling on a tan trenchcoat. "If ya wanna see him before ya take off, do it now."  
  
Carter's hooded blue eyes looked past the men, seriously considering the offer. "No," she finally said, her voice nearly inaudible. "I wouldn't know what to say to him."  
  
"I hear 'Sorry' goes a long way," Duke offered.  
  
The muscles around her eyes tightened. "Is that the line you're going to use on the red-head?" Carter flashed him a humorless smile. "Charming, Lafayette. Maybe it'll impress her so much she'll throw you a boner after her ninja boyfriend kicks off."  
  
Low Light gasped and Duke stiffened, his scarred hands balling into tight fists.  
  
"CARTER," Fury roared.  
  
"Bitch," Duke hissed, taking a step forward.  
  
In an instant, Low Light was in front of him, trying to keep him away from the mocking woman. "Don't do it, man!"  
  
"Ya didn't have ta say that," Fury snarled, roughly grabbing Carter by the arm, dragging her out of earshot from the Joes.  
  
"Why not," she asked, glaring daggers at him. She twisted out of his grasp. "You were going to bring it up sooner or later."  
  
He grabbed her hard again and yanked her closer. "But not yet," he hissed into her face. "Ain't ya learned anythin' from me?"  
  
Her fists clenched in unconscious imitation of Duke's. "I learned too much."  
  
"WHAT'S GOING ON?!"  
  
The voice rang into the pre-dawn darkness like the peel of a giant bell, making everyone jump at once. Captain America strode out of the hospital doors accompanied by the red-haired Scarlet, swinging a loaded crossbow at her side.  
  
An ironic chuckle escaped Carter's lips. "Speak of the devil."  
  
"Ya findin' somethin' amusin,' Agent," Fury hissed, gripping her arm harder.  
  
"NICK!" Steve's expression was thunderous. "Get your hands off of her!"  
  
Fury shot Carter a murderous look before letting her go.  
  
Steve jabbed a finger at Duke. "You. Stand down."  
  
Still breathing heavily, angrily, Duke forced himself to take a step back from Low Light and unfisted his hands. Low Light let out a sigh of relief, relaxing.until the Captain's next question. "Mind telling me what that was all about," the new Joe CO asked flatly.  
  
Low Light bowed his head, but discreetly looked at Fury and Carter.  
  
Fury just struck a match, making a show of lighting his cigar.  
  
Carter blatantly looked at Duke.  
  
Duke refused to look at anyone...especially Scarlet. "Yes, sir," he grounded out. "I mind very much." He grabbed a bag from the hover car and stormed past them all.  
  
Scarlet moved to go after Duke but was stopped by the Captain's hand on her shoulder. "Wardog!"  
  
The Captain's voice froze Duke in place.  
  
"BeachHead arranged for Psyche-Out to give you a physical. I want you to have some kind of medical clearance before I let you come," Steve said in a voice that tolerated no arguments.  
  
Duke gave him one anyways. "Psyche-Out's a shrink, not a medical doctor," Duke said flatly, not turning.  
  
"He's got medical training," Steve said. "And he's the only doctor BeachHead trusts to see you."  
  
Duke rolled his shoulders once, trying to relax, then nodded curtly. He marched on, flung the hospital doors open and disappeared through them.  
  
"Why are you letting him go with you," Carter demanded sullenly, rubbing her arm. "He's got a concussion, he's dead weight."  
  
"Gotta agree with her," Fury said. He snorted smoke at the studiously blank looks on Steve and Scarlet's faces. "Don't try that with us. We've known who yer Dog-boy is fer a while now. A mask'll only fool us fer so long." He grinned. "Ya oughta know that, Cap." He shook his head. "Be a real shame if he died fer real."  
  
"Nick," Steve growled warningly. "What did I say about my partners?"  
  
Fury held up his hands. "I ain't threatenin' him, just pointin' out he's a weak link. I sure as hell don't wanna die because he's not feelin' too good."  
  
"He did fine at the junkyard," Low Light said softly.  
  
The pebbly eye turned its glare on the Black Bullet. "Yer not exactly the picture of health either. If ya ask me---"  
  
"No one's asking you, Nick. If Wardog's cleared, he's coming," Steve said in a tone of finality. "The same goes for Low Light. If you have a problem with that then you're just going to have to deal." He brushed by Fury and approached Carter. His expression and voice softened as he slipped his hand under her arm and gently massaged her bruised muscle. "Are you OK?"  
  
"Yeah," Carter said, pulling away from him. "Just peachy." She crossed her arms and turned her back on them, walking a short distance away.  
  
Steve briefly closed his eyes, trying to hide the hurt that flashed in his eyes. "Low Light, get cleared with medical," he said softly. "Scarlet, please escort Director Fury downstairs and introduce him to BeachHead. I'll be there shortly."  
  
She glanced at Carter and nodded sadly. "Yes, sir. I understand." She turned to Fury. "Colonel, I'm sorry but you'll have to put out your cigar."  
  
Fury glared at her, taking a big puff. "I just lit it," he rasped.  
  
"Nick, don't be difficult," Steve said sharply.  
  
Before Fury could retort Scarlet yanked the cigar from his between his teeth. "HEY!"  
  
"No difficulties, Captain," Scarlet assured him, tossing the cigar into the air. With one hand she smoothly drew her knife and cut the cigar in half. The lit end hit the ground. She caught the other end on the flat of her blade. Low Light tried to hide a smile as Scarlet grounded the lit butt out with her boot and offered what was left of the cigar back to Fury. "If you'll follow me now, Colonel Fury?"  
  
Fury took the remainder of his cigar back, arching his eyebrows high. "Ya been with Abernathy long?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Scarlet replied, sheathing her blade. "Since the beginning of GI Joe. Why?"  
  
"It shows."  
  
Steve waited until he and Carter were alone on the roof. "Are you sure you're OK," he asked her again.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," she said tossing her hair over her shoulder, shifting her stance. "I've suffered worse."  
  
Steve yanked the bulky Greenshirt helmet off his head and held it in one hand. "Sharon."  
  
Carter stood still.  
  
Steve cupped her cheek with his free hand, gently turning her head. "Sharon."  
  
She let her gaze travel the length of his body, slowly, from the boots up, reluctant to meet those open blue eyes of his. "Uniform looks good on you," she managed to say.  
  
"Feels a little odd," he admitted. "But good."  
  
"Don't get too comfortable---"  
  
He lifted her chin, hoping to catch her eyes. "These are good soldiers, Sharon---"  
  
"Yeah, I keep hearing that---"  
  
"Let me finish," he said, his voice still soft but full of.something. "These are good soldiers. They're going through a very difficult time. It doesn't help that I'm leaving them in the middle of a media storm only a few hours after taking Command. They all want to rescue Hawk, charge in and save the day, but they understand why they can't. They understand that I need the majority of the team seen here digging in for the media siege, to lull Cobra into a false sense of security. But the reporters are saying terrible things about them, about Hawk and Jaye. It's affecting them, their morale. It certainly doesn't help that I can't come right out and say I'm the new Joe CO and protect them the way Hawk wanted me to."  
  
"What's your point, Steve," Carter sighed.  
  
Steve leaned his cheek against her forehead. "I love you, Sharon, and I always will. I don't know what went on between you and Wardog---"  
  
"You mean Hauser," she interrupted.  
  
"---I don't know what went on between you two," he continued. "But whatever it was, whatever it is.cut it out."  
  
She drew back, startled, automatically looking him in the eyes.  
  
Old eyes, sad and too full of weary disappointment looked back at her, looked INTO her, holding her gaze in a grip like spun adamantium.  
  
"Cut out the games and the petty power plays, Sharon. The Joes are dedicated soldiers. The best America has to offer. Don't look down on them. Don't disrespect them." He lowered his hand. "Don't play them. They don't deserve it."  
  
"What makes you think I'm playing---"  
  
"Stop it," he said quietly.  
  
The wind blew over the rooftop, swirling around the couple, surrounding them with silence.  
  
"Sharon," he whispered. "Just this once.can't you be straight with me?" He held his hand out to her. "Please?"  
  
She tore her eyes away from his and forced herself to turn away.  
  
Steve kept his hand out. "The Joes will follow my orders. If there's something we should be aware of, some hidden agenda that NEEDS to be done.Sharon, if you just TELL me, SHIELD and Joe can cooperate and---"  
  
"We ARE cooperating, Steve," she cut in sharply over her shoulder. "We're doing things your way, aren't we?"  
  
"I don't know," Steve said. "Are you?"  
  
Carter closed her eyes. "Look. I'm tired, Steve---"  
  
"So am I."  
  
"You don't get sleepy."  
  
"I wasn't talking about sleep."  
  
She glanced at him, still holding out his hand. Her eyes softened.  
  
Steve held perfectly still.  
  
"I.I have to go," she said quickly, opening the door to the hovercar. "So do you."  
  
He lowered his arm. "I know."  
  
She swung her legs into the hovercar, feeling his eyes on her as she buckled in.  
  
Steve grabbed the hovercar door. "Good-bye, Sharon." He moved to close it.  
  
"Wait."  
  
He froze, an inch shy of shutting the door. Slowly, he pulled the door wide open. Carter stared fixedly ahead, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. "Do you know that quote by Thomas Jefferson," she asked, refusing to look at him. "The one that says, 'The tree of liberty must be watered periodically with the blood of tyrants and patriots alike?'"  
  
Her words froze Steve's heart. "What about it," he whispered.  
  
"Remember it." She slid her eyes to the side, finally looking at him from the corner of her eyes. "Fury and I aren't the only ones keeping secrets from you."  
  
Steve frowned. "Are you saying one of the Joes is going to betray me," he demanded incredulously. "Betray Hawk?"  
  
"Sometime keeping secrets aren't a betrayal," she said, gripping the wheel even harder. "Sometimes it's the ultimate act of loyalty."  
  
"What do you mean," he pressed.  
  
"I have to go."  
  
"Sharon," he hissed, frustrated.  
  
"I'm not playing you, Steve," she said. "I've told you as much as I can." She dropped her eyes. "I might have told you too much."  
  
He knelt, trying to catch her eyes. "But are you telling me the truth?"  
  
She looked him right in the eyes. "As true as I love you."  
  
He held her eyes. A small smile lifted his lips. "I believe you."  
  
Carter's face softened. She released her death grip on the wheel and caressed Steve's face. "Thank you for that," she whispered, bending down to kiss him softly.  
  
The helmet slipped from Steve's hand as he kissed her back fiercely, letting her draw him closer and hold him tightly. He slipped his arms around her, trying to crush her to his chest, trying to drink her in, tasting...  
  
.tasting salt.  
  
His eyes flew open and he drew back.  
  
Sharon Carter, hard as nails Director of SHIELD, was crying.  
  
"Sharon," he gasped. "What---"  
  
"I have to go," she choked out. "So do you."  
  
"Sharon---"  
  
"Go get the 'kid.'" She planted her boot in the middle of his chest and shoved as hard as she could. Startled, Steve went flying back. "GO!"  
  
Before he could recover she shut the door and gunned the hovercar from the roof.  
  
By the time he got to his feet she was cloaked, gone from sight.  
  
Almost by reflex, he touched his lips and frowned. "Secrets and loyalty."  
  
***********************************************************  
  
Low Light sat at the edge of the unoccupied ICU bed, peeling the tight SHIELD jumper from his pale body to the waist. The young Asian medic quickly gave him a general examination before going over the synthetic skin covering the sniper's left biceps more carefully, asking the sniper to flex and move his arm. Quietly, Low Light complied, regarding the remains of the tattoo in silence.  
  
Death, silent and hidden had lain under that tattoo for four years.  
  
SHIELD could have killed him at any time, for any reason.  
  
Low Light fought back a violent shudder.  
  
"Um, sir?"  
  
Low Light turned eyes as empty as the pre-dawn sky on the medic. "Yes?"  
  
"I said you're cleared for combat, sir." He inserted what looked like tiny cartridges of liquid into a new wrist com's hidden slots. "You're lucky. You got mostly surface cuts, sir. The deeper ones were along the grain of the muscles instead of cross-sliced, so you should be able to move your arm OK. But add that to the pulled muscles and you're going to hurt a lot, sir, so I'm programming your new wrist com to give you doses of ibuprofen. It'll automatically dose you the equivalent of three pills of Advil every six hours. A little high, but it'll only be for a day, two max, depending on how you're doing. You should also get an iron-rich nutrient boost at the same time."  
  
Silently, Low Light took the wrist com from the medic. He opened the bracelet-like device.and just stared at it.  
  
"Sir? Is everything alright?"  
  
"Yeah," Low Light said, placing the wrist com on the bed. He jerked his chin to the olive drab duffel sitting on a chair near the door. "That my gear?"  
  
"Yes, sir. And someone will swing by soon with your weapons." The medic picked up the bag and handed it to Low Light. "I'll go and give my report to the Captain while you change, sir."  
  
"The jumper's fine for now. I can change on the transport." He struggled into the sleeves as he jumped down from the bed, zipping the jumper shut. "Time's wasting." He reached for the com...and pulled back his hand, hesitating.  
  
"Sir? Is...something wrong?"  
  
Low Light glanced at the worried medic then back at the com. "Nothing." Shaking off the sense of apprehension, he snapped the com over his wrist and slung his bag over his good shoulder. "Let's go."  
  
The medic opened the door.  
  
He recoiled so suddenly that Low Light pulled the knife from his sheath, ready to pounce on the intruder.  
  
"No, sir, it's OK," the medic yelped, holding out his palm. He eased the door open further, revealing a wide-eyed Greenshirt with two types of sniper rifles slung on her back, her hand poised to knock. "It's just Adams."  
  
"Adams?" Low Light looked at the knife self-consciously and sheathed it with a mumbled, "Sorry."  
  
She recovered quickly, grinning broadly. "That's alright, sir. Seems like it's becoming a standard greeting between us."  
  
Low Light stared hard at the floor, remembering the last time he and the Greenshirt had crossed weapons. "Not funny."  
  
Her smile wilted. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I was just trying---"  
  
"I know," he whispered. "Forget it."  
  
She slipped inside, unbuckling one of the gun belts hugging her hips. "We, um, retrieved your firearms from the roof, sir. Here's your .45, with extra clips."  
  
"Thanks," he said, setting his duffel down to buckle on the sidearm.  
  
"And Commander Scarlet said I should give you a choice in rifles. Old faithful," she hooked her thumb under the strap of his favorite single bolt. "Or the new kick-ass." She plucked at the semi-automatic's strap. "Personally, sir, I'd take the semi. Never know when you'll need the fast firepower."  
  
Low Light sighed wistfully but nodded. "Good choice."  
  
She started to unsling the rifle from her shoulder then stopped with an ill- concealed wince.  
  
Low Light frowned. "Adams? You OK?"  
  
"Yes, sir," she hissed, easing the semi off. She straightened with a grimace as she held the semi out to Low Light. "Just cracked my ribs."  
  
He took the rifle from her hands, frowning. "How?"  
  
She dropped her eyes, suddenly very intent on unstrapping one of her bandoleers and checking each magazine in the pouches. "On the roof. The imposter...we exchanged fire and, well..." She shrugged and held the bandoleer out to him. "I got tagged."  
  
Low Light took the bandoleer from her without meeting her eyes, his shoulders oddly hunched. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be, sir. It's not your fault."  
  
Low Light clenched the rifle tight and squeezed his eyes shut. "Not true."  
  
The medic huffed. "In my opinion, you're both taking on too much as it is. Don't hog all the guilt as well." The medic gently prodded her side, frowning at her reaction. "The doctors said you're on LIGHT duty, Paige. I can't believe you volunteered---"  
  
She squirmed away. "Everyone's been doing too much, Ev. I know for a fact that this is your second shift straight."  
  
"I'M not injured." Ev shrugged. "Besides, these SHIELD doctors are good but...well, our guys need to hear a friendly voice. Y'know?"  
  
"I know," Low Light whispered, cracking open his eyes. "It's what Lifeline would have done. He'd...he'll be proud of you. Keep it up."  
  
The medic ducked his head. "Thank you, sir. I will."  
  
Low Light shifted, suddenly intensely uncomfortable. "We've got to go," he said brusquely. He glanced at his bolt rifle wistfully. "Take care of my baby, Adams."  
  
She straightened, fighting not to frown. "Of course I will, sir!"  
  
"Thanks." He took one step...then paused. "Adams?"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"You said you exchanged fire with the imposter?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Tag him back?"  
  
A feral grin lit her face. "Yes, SIR!"  
  
Ever so slightly, the stony face cracked. "Good." And with that, he hurried out of the room, not even waiting for Ev.  
  
"Sir! Low Light! Wait---ow!"  
  
The sniper spun.  
  
The Greenshirt Lieutenant was leaning against the wall, one arm wrapped around her ribs, the other held out to him. "Wait, Low Light."  
  
"Dammit, Paige," the medic snarled, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "You need rest---"  
  
"Shove off, Ev," she said irritably. "This is important."  
  
"What is," he demanded.  
  
Her face darkened. "Doing more," she said cryptically. She pushed away from the exasperated medic and walked as quickly as she could to Low Light. "Here," she said, drawing one of the smallest pistols he had ever seen from a holster at the small of her back. "Walther Model 9 Pocket Pistol. Six shots." She took a deep breath, visibly steeled herself, and offered it to him grip first. "Take it."  
  
Low Light scowled and held his palm out, close to his chest. "Cute antique, but---"  
  
"It would have saved us all a lot of trouble if I had it on the roof," she snapped. "It might save you a lot of trouble now." She pushed it against his unresponsive hand. "Please, sir. Just take it."  
  
"Adams," Low Light began.  
  
"Please."  
  
He sighed. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"  
  
Her clear blue eyes stared intently at him. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Well," he sighed again, "I can't ignore that." His fingers curled around the grip.  
  
She pulled her hand away reluctantly, regretfully. "Take care of my baby."  
  
The stony face cracked further. "Of course, ma'am," Low Light said, touching his fingers to his temple in a mock salute.  
  
Adams returned the gesture with parade smart sharpness. "Then carry on."  
  
******************************  
  
Fury placed a metal sphere on the table in the middle of the 'unused' ICU room and pressed a button. A holographic globe as large as a basketball sprang to life. "Now ya see here," he said, touching a glowing dot in the middle of the Atlantic. Instantly a holographic window, an enlarged map of the area popped up over the globe. "That's where yer bird was when it threw out that signal." He double tapped the glowing dot on the window. Another window opened, showing the schematics of a plane.  
  
Lady Jaye rubbed her red rimmed eyes and nodded. "Of course. An Extensive Enterprise business jet."  
  
"'Business jet,'" Fury snorted. "Damn thing's an armored supersonic!"  
  
"Tomax and Xamot don't play nice," BeachHead rumbled. "Someone's always out to get them." He shrugged. "Mostly us, but sometimes not."  
  
"What's their flight trajectory," Duke asked, twirling the SHIELD mask in one hand.  
  
He closed down the map of the ocean and opened one of Europe. "They took an Arctic route. Comin' down from the north." A glowing line swooped over the United Kingdom. "My folks say they made a refueling stop in Scotland and got back in the air." The glowing line continued to thread its way over a number of countries. "They're still on the move, over the Carpathean Mountains at the moment, heading fer what looks like Trans- Carpathia."  
  
"They're really moving," Jinx murmured.  
  
"Heading for that damned Silent Castle of Destro's I bet," BeachHead spat.  
  
Jaye cocked her head, her green eyes distant, as if listening to something. "I...don't think so..." she said slowly, walking up to the globe. "Colonel Fury, is there a way for me to measure the plane's altitude and speed?"  
  
"Yeah," Fury said, stroking the line. Numbers popped up along side the globe. "Here."  
  
"I agree with Jaye," Scarlet said. "They stopped in Scotland. My bet is they managed to smuggle Hawk off there."  
  
"I'm telling you, they're taking Hawk to Trans-Carpathia," BeachHead insisted. "That damned castle is a bitch to break into. I recommend a bigger team---"  
  
"Noted." Captain America said sharply. "But denied." He peered over Jaye's shoulder as she examined the plane's flight path. "That whole area's in bad diplomatic relations with this country. If we go in with anything larger than a platoon, we're going to kick up a whole mess of trouble that could get this unit disbanded."  
  
"Nothing new," Low Light muttered under his breath.  
  
"It's not happening on my watch," Steve snapped.  
  
"Well, can you at least pick out a group that's more together, sir," BeachHead growled. "Low Light's a walking bruise and Psyche-Out didn't look none too pleased with Duke---"  
  
"BEACH HEAD," Duke snapped. "You're out of order!"  
  
"And you're dead," BeachHead retorted. "I should be the one going---"  
  
"Like you said," Duke cut in, grinning ferally. "I'm dead. You're not."  
  
BeachHead took a threatening step forward. "I don't like this," he hissed.  
  
"GENTLEMEN," Steve said, stepping between them. "Do we have a problem?"  
  
"No problem, sir," Duke said, never taking his eyes from BeachHead. "Right? Top?"  
  
BeachHead just grunted and backed off.  
  
"THIS mess of egos is the best anit-terrorist task force in the world?" Fury spat. "Pathetic."  
  
"NICK," Steve roared.  
  
"They slowed down," Jaye exclaimed suddenly.  
  
Her words struck the whole room dumb.  
  
"They slowed down," she repeated excitedly. "In mid-air. Right here," she said, pointing at a spot on the path near the end. "Then they sped back up."  
  
"WHAT," Fury choked out. "Lemme see!"  
  
"Where," Scarlet demanded.  
  
Lady Jaye shuddered.  
  
Blue-green eyes went round with horror. "Oh hell," Scarlet whispered. "Borovia?"  
  
Jaye nodded.  
  
"Uh-uh. No way," Fury said flatly. "Our satellites don't show nuthin' comin' outta that plane---"  
  
"Would it register a High Altitude Low Opening drop," Steve asked softly.  
  
"Look at these numbers," Fury snarled, chewing his unlit cigar flat. "Only some damned fruitcake would HALO jump from this height!"  
  
"I've done it," BeachHead said nonchalantly.  
  
"Ditto," Duke said raising his hand.  
  
"Yeah, right," Fury sneered. "Anyone else?"  
  
All the Joes raised their hands.  
  
Fury stared at them in disbelief.  
  
Steve tried to hide a smile behind his hand as he shrugged. "What can I say, Nick?"  
  
The corner of Low Light's lips lifted slightly. "No one here but us fruitcakes?"  
  
The pebbly brown eye swung to glare at the sniper. "Ya get a sense of humor NOW?"  
  
"THE POINT," Steve said loudly, getting everyone's attention. "The point is that I'M willing to bet that the Drednoks made that jump over Borovia."  
  
"Yer bettin' Hawk's life on that," Fury said.  
  
Steve nodded solemnly. "I know."  
  
Everyone became silent as the gravity of that statement sunk in.  
  
"Status on those two hovercars," Steve asked BeachHead.  
  
"Preped," the Ranger said shortly. "They're ready anytime y'all want to saddle up."  
  
"Nick, I want SHEILD's computer to run a simulation on a HALO jump from those conditions," Steve said, pointing to the flight path. "I want to know where possible Landing Zones are. Then give the intel to Lady Jaye so we can narrow it down to probable LZ's."  
  
"Understood," Jaye said gravely.  
  
Fury nodded as he turned and muttered something into the com at his shoulder.  
  
"Duke, Low Light. You boys need anything else in the way of gear?"  
  
The Second held up his pack. "I'm good."  
  
Low Light patted the rifle slung over his good shoulder. "Ready."  
  
"Alright, people, I want to be in the air in less than fifteen minutes," Steve said. "So get a move on. Nick, Jaye, Light, Duke, stay for a minute. BeachHead."  
  
The Ranger turned. "Yes, sir?"  
  
Steve put both hands on the younger man's shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes. "I'm counting on you to keep this team together, solider." Steve gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Stay true to your name, son. Dig in and wait for us. Don't surrender any ground."  
  
BeachHead straightened up. "You can count on me, sir." He saluted smartly. "Captain America. It's been an honor."  
  
"The honor's been mine." Steve returned the salute. "Dismissed." He watched the Ranger and his bodyguard depart the room and waited several beats. "It's possible that BeachHead was right. That I should get a team that's more 'together.'" He turned to face his strike squad. "We're bruised, battered, broken hearted...all in all a pretty sorry bunch." Slowly, he looked each of them in the eyes. "But I believe that we're together enough." He held out a fist to them. "More than together."  
  
Fury watched curiously as Duke stepped up and placed his hand over Steve's fist. Low Light and Lady Jaye followed suit. "What the hell's this? A pep rally?"  
  
Steve locked eyes with Fury. "We made an oath, Nick," he told the spy. "We swore we wouldn't lose Hawk without a fight."  
  
"Nuts to surrender," Duke said softly.  
  
"Nuts," Low Light and Jaye repeated.  
  
"Cute." The spy looked bemused. "Well, then." Fury stepped up and slapped his hand on top of theirs. "Nuts ta the whole damned lot of 'em! Let's fly!" 


	15. BirdEater

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, and if there are any others, I still don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
*The Borovian language used here is actually Slovak.  
  
*For those who didn't know, the Nazis tried to terminate more than one race.  
  
* Sorry sorry! I've got no excuse for taking so long...just...trying to make things good... ____________________________________________________________________________ _______  
  
  
  
  
  
The massive bronze doors opened with an ear splitting squeal.  
  
Zartan took one step into the throne room...and balked.  
  
This was not what he had been expecting.  
  
His sister and his daughter took advantage of his surprise to adjust their eyes to the stony room's darkness. A bit of torchlight from the hall illuminated the plush scarlet runner carpet leading into the room, the opulent red velvets draping over the threshold, but nothing else. Shadows cloaked most of the room in blessed darkness. The only other light came from the just descending summer sun as it streamed through a high narrow window, puddling at the end of the runner like a glowing pool of fresh blood.  
  
At the sight of the accursed sunlight, Zartan sternly fought the urge to flinch, the memory of his unpleasant HALO jump through the summer sun still fresh in his mind. Though his skin condition was no longer critical, he still had his 'little problems' with sunlight.  
  
His host often took malicious pleasure in using that problem to Zartan's disadvantage.  
  
But not today.  
  
Today there was only one window uncovered, the barest hint of an obligatory threat.  
  
A soft, almost metallic sounding chuckle rolled from Zartan's throat.  
  
This was a good sign.  
  
Flanked by his sister and daughter, Zartan continued to march into the room, followed by six Crimson Guards carrying a steamer trunk topped with a bow of Dreadnok green and purple.  
  
The whole procession stopped just before the patch of sunlight. As one, the Crimson Guards bowed deeply from the waist and gently lowered their burden.  
  
Zartan crossed his arms and swaggered around the sunlight, avoiding its direct rays. "Greetings," he said smoothly, dipping his head once. He twirled a hand, gesturing to the darkened room. "The ambiance of the room has been greatly improved since my last visit." A smile bordering on a smirk slid across his face as he placed a hand on his chest. "You did not have to go through such trouble on my account."  
  
There was a soft hiss of silk on silk, the hushed creak of fine leather in the darkness just beyond the sunlight. "Such considerations are trivial between...friendss," a man's dry, scratchy voice said loftily from the shadows. "IF they please me."  
  
"I think you will be pleased with this purchase," Zartan said smugly.  
  
"Then let me see," the man hissed impatiently. There was a sense of him leaning closer. "Show me!"  
  
Zartan snapped his fingers. The Crimson Guards laid one end of the steamer trunk on the ground, tilting the other end up, bracing it steadily. A motion from her father and a stern glance later, Zanya grudgingly passed Zaranna a golden key. Smirking, Zaranna slowly inserted the key into the lock...and twisted sharply.  
  
The trunk burst open, the lid and walls unfolded like a bloom. A bound, limp figure stuffed into a drab jumpsuit slid from the trunk, landing feet first squarely in the middle of the pooling sunlight. He immediately fell to his knees, his torso slumping forward until his forehead came to rest against the scarlet ground.  
  
Hair several shades shy of platinum reflected the sunlight back in a wash of gold.  
  
The man in the darkness inhaled sharply. "Stormshadow," he whispered hoarsely.  
  
Like the approach of a snowy tiger, the white clad ninja flowed silently from the shadows and into the light. Zanya took one quick protective step towards her father, but the Cobra bodyguard ignored them. Instead, Stormshadow reached down and grabbed the kneeling man by the scruff, hauled him into an upright position, and roughly tilted his head up so his master could see his face.  
  
The amber sun burned away any doubt.  
  
There was a sense of movement in the dark, then the slither of silk over velvet, punctuated by muffled, quick steps over the plush runner. The light caught the mirrored sheen of bright metal where a man's face should have been. "You have him," the man breathed, his voice a mixed caress of loathing and excitement. Hands sheathed in black suede reached into the sunlight and tightly gripped the pale gold skull. The veins at the temples fluttered against his hand like the beat of trapped wings. "Tomahawk," he hissed.  
  
"So tell me, Cobra Commander," Zartan asked, his voice silky. "Are you pleased?"  
  
For a moment, there was no answer, no movement.  
  
Then, from the darkness, came what sounded like a dry cough.  
  
And another.  
  
Like the shriek of nails on chalkboard, Cobra Commander let loose a gale of maniacal laughter and screeched, "He's mine! MINE! I'VE WON!!"  
  
  
  
  
  
The last of the sun's rays caressed the tallest of the three church towers, casting shadows of deepening purples and blues across the surrounding treetops as it finally slipped beyond the foothills and into the night. For most in the Borovian village of Rojnica, dinner had long since come and gone and the emergence of the Evening Star through the swaying trees a signal for parents to shoo their children into their beds.  
  
Quickly.  
  
No one in their right minds went out after dark. Doors and windows were barred, and the men and their older sons were all armed with shotguns, even automatic rifles. More often than not, the automatics were damaged and useless, discards found in the foothills by people collecting crude oil from puddles in abandoned mines for their village's rough little refinery. Some rifles only required minor repair to work once more, but most were beyond the villagers' abilities to fix. Still, the broken weaponry brought some amount of comfort to families. Should the situation arise, a moment of bluffing could grant the children time to escape.  
  
But if any screams were heard...  
  
No. No one in their right minds went out after dark.  
  
Not for anyone's screams.  
  
Not even the parish priest's.  
  
  
  
  
  
The thin elderly parish priest stood in his home with his hand clamped over his mouth, the corner of his eyes crinkling as tears began to pour down his cheeks.  
  
"Easy, easy," Steve said soothingly, holding out his hands in a gesture of comfort. Fury barred the door as Lady Jaye quickly turned down the kerosene lamp at the table then went around the rustic wooden room drawing curtains shut, careful not to been seen from the outside. Duke took aim at the door with his sidearm as he spoke tersely into his comm, telling Low Light to stay in the bell-tower, that everything was fine in there.  
  
Mostly.  
  
"Great idea, Cap," Fury snarled as he took an identical position next to Duke. He twisted his voice into a mockingly accurate imitation of Steve's. "'Parish priests knows everyone and everything in the area, Nick. Of COURSE he'll be happy to help, Nick.'" His voice dropped back into a gravely rumble. "The Padre's blown our cover. Someone's gonna come running---"  
  
"Nick, shush," Steve said in a gentle voice, never taking his eyes off the priest. "Jaye, tell him we're not going to---"  
  
To everyone's utter shock the priest grabbed Steve's hands and fell to his knees, kissing them profusely. "Kapitan," he sobbed softly between kisses, "Kapitan Amerika!" He let one of Steve's hands go so he could cross himself and lift his pale hand to the Heavens. "Svaty Otec, d'akujem Vam. D'akujem Vam vel'mi pe---!" Too overcome with emotion to continue, he lifted his rosary to his lips then pressed it against his forehead, weeping.  
  
"Oh...HELL," Duke exploded, stomping into the kitchen area.  
  
The new Joe Leader looked at Jaye blankly. "Ah..."  
  
She looked back, her face just as blank. "He said, 'Captain, Captain America! Holy Father, thank You. Thank You very much.'" She shrugged helplessly as she looked down at the praying man. "That's all he---" She stopped herself suddenly. "Sir," she said softly. "His arm."  
  
The older blonde craned his neck. The sleeves of the priest's black robes had fallen back to his elbows, exposing his wiry forearms.  
  
Faded and fuzzed with age, the tattoo of black numbers could still be seen on the priest's arm.  
  
The mark of a concentration camp survivor.  
  
Steve squeezed his eyes shut briefly before looking back at the bowed silvery head. "Get up." He crouched down and slipped his free hand under the priest's elbow. "Get up, please get up." Steve tried to get the man to rise but it as if he was rooted to the ground by the knees. Steve couldn't lift him without wrenching the priest's arms. "Please, Father...please don't do this. Please get up."  
  
Jaye knelt next to the priest and put her hand on his bony shoulder. "He doesn't understand you, sir," she said. She slipped her hand under his other elbow and looked at Steve. "Repeat after me; 'Prosim, Otec. Vstat.'"  
  
"Prosim, Otec," Steve softly repeated. "Vstat."  
  
"Keep going," Jaye said encouragingly.  
  
"Prosim, Otec. Vstat. Prosim..."  
  
At last the priest nodded his understanding and finally let Steve and Jaye help him up and into a spindly straight back chair at an old wooden table. He looked at the Captain again, tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. He tried to speak but no words came forth.  
  
"Dychat pomaly, Otec," Jaye said soothingly, rubbing his back.  
  
The priest nodded again, drawing deep, slow breaths, trying to calm down.  
  
"Moje meno je Jaye," she said, introducing herself. "Ako sa volas?"  
  
"Drozd," he answered her hoarsely. "Otec Drozd."  
  
"Everyone, this Father Drozd," Jaye said softly.  
  
Steve managed to drag up a smile. "Please to meet you."  
  
Father Drozd's chin trembled as he beamed at the Captain, a new spate of tears threatening to spill forth.  
  
"Move over," Duke's voice ordered briskly from behind the Captain. Steve shifted to one side, making room for Duke, who held a steaming porcelain cup. "Hot tea and sugar," he said, jerking his head towards the kettle on the wood-burning stove and some nearby tins. "Good remedy for shock." Visibly reigning in his impatience, Duke gently pressed the cup into the priest's trembling hands and helped him hold it steady as the old man gingerly drank. Father Drozd moved to put the cup down but Duke held it firmly to the man's lips. "Tell him to drink it all, Jaye."  
  
"Drowning him won't help Hawk," Jaye said sharply.  
  
"We don't have time for this," Duke hissed, but he eased up. The hooded blue eyes raked the Captain critically from head to toe. "You're wearing a Greenshirt uniform. How'd he recognize you?"  
  
"Padre must've been from one of the camps Cap snuck inta wearin' Gestapo duds," Fury mused. A twinkle gleamed from his eye as he looked from Duke to Steve and back again. "Guess not all blondes look alike after all."  
  
Steve closed his eyes. "We shouldn't have come here."  
  
Fury squinted at him. "Come again?"  
  
"You were right, Nick. We shouldn't have come here." Steve opened his eyes, staring at nothing. "He shouldn't have to relive those memories. We shouldn't have come."  
  
"Well, we're here now," Fury pointed out pragmatically. "And since we've already riled up the Padre, we might as well get the intel we came fer." He cocked his head at his friend. "'Sides, in case ya haven't noticed, winghead, the Padre's HAPPY yer here."  
  
Duke gave a grunt. "Any happier and I'd have been doing CPR."  
  
Father Drozd drained the last of his tea and let Duke take the cup away with a murmur of thanks. He dabbed at his eyes with his black sleeves and took a deep breath. "Kapitan Amerika?"  
  
Steve stepped closer. "Jaye, translate for us please?"  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
The priest held his hands out to the Captain. "'I am not dreaming,'" Jaye asked, translating the priest's words into English. "'It really is you, Kapitan?'"  
  
"It's me," Steve said gently, taking his hands and crouching. "I'm surprised you recognized me."  
  
The priest blinked as Jaye repeated Steve's words to him in Borovian. "'Not recognize you? How can I not when you haven't changed! Look at you!'" The priest laughed as he slipped a hand free to reach out and pat the soldier's cheek. "'Still as young as the day you and your son freed us from that pit of Hell! Ah...I cried then too, I remember. We all did, we were so happy.'" He chuckled. "'Your son felt so bad for us---he didn't know they were good tears---he gave us cookies to stop our crying. The sweetest thing I had ever tasted!'" His eyes twinkled at the memory. "'For many of us who were children then, the taste of freedom will always be chocolate chip cookies.'"  
  
The ghost of a proud smile hovered on Steve's lips. "Kid..."  
  
"'Tell me,'" Father Drozd went on. "'Is he well, your son?'"  
  
The question startled Steve from his thoughts. "He wasn't really my..." Steve stopped himself and sighed, rubbing a knuckle against his eyes. "He's gone."  
  
The light in the priest's eye dimmed. "'Forgive me,'" he said quietly, squeezing Steve's hand as he crossed himself. "'He was a kind, brave boy. If there is anything I can do---'"  
  
"There is," Steve said, gratefully latching onto the offer. He squared his shoulders and clapped a hand over Father Drozd's. "We need your help. Very badly."  
  
"'Ah...'" Father Drozd wrapped the dignity of his calling around him and nodded grimly. "'I did not think that this was a social visit. But I am grateful for this chance to repay you in some small way.'" He released Steve and gravely folded his hands in his lap. "'Ask your favor, Kapitan Amerika. If it is in my power to grant, it will be done.'"  
  
"The fort on the hill," Steve began.  
  
Father Drozd's face darkened. "'The snake men,'" he spat. "'We tell the government that dangerous men are here but do they listen? No! They tell me to stop wasting their time with an old man's imagination and save it for the gullible who come to hear me preach!'" He spat again. "'The soldiers won't stir a finger to help us!'"  
  
"Intrestin'," Fury rumbled thoughtfully.  
  
Steve pressed on. "The snake men kidnapped a friend of ours."  
  
"'And you come to me in the hopes that I know of a way to the fort, for a rescue,'" Father Drozd concluded. He immediately crossed himself with a great sigh. "'I warn you, Kapitan, you should prepare for the worst,'" he told them sadly. "'The snake men have many women, both old and young. We find them in the hills, when the snake men are done with them. The villagers bring what they find to me.'" He flicked his eyes to Jaye. "'Far better, I think, it was for the old ones.'"  
  
She looked back at the priest and asked him a question.  
  
"'Because, daughter...from what I could see, all that were taken from them was the labor of their hands and their lives,'" he said as delicately as he could. "'Evil men such as those take much more from a young woman, especially a young woman such as yourself.'" He looked at Steve mournfully. "'I...recognize the signs.'" He touched his tattoo. "'From long ago.'"  
  
The Captain's hands tightened into fists as he gave Jaye a quick look. "What about the men," he asked in a tight voice. "Did they take any of the men?"  
  
The priest sighed. "'Some men tried to rescue the women...'" Father Drozd shook his head again and crossed himself. "'God rest their poor brave souls. I would find the men within two days, all horribly dead, propped outside my church.'"  
  
Steve was less than pleased with this statement. "Duke, are any of our Covert Ops in the fort yet?"  
  
The Second grimaced. "No," he sighed, frustration lacing that single word. "They're maneuvering themselves into position as fast as they can without blowing their covers, but..." He shook his head.  
  
"Nick?"  
  
"Fer the last time, SHIELD ain't got no spies in Cobra," Fury growled. "They all tend ta die."  
  
The Joe Leader drummed his finger pensively against the tabletop, feeling the eyes of his troops on him. "We need to confirm Hawk's presence in the fort," Steve said. "If he really is there, we need to know where." He let his eyes rest heavily on Jaye. "We can't wait for the Covert Ops. We need to get someone inside. Now."  
  
"I believe that's where I come in," Jaye said.  
  
Steve looked grim. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this---"  
  
"But ya expected it, didn't ya," Fury rasped. He eyed her curiously. "Was wonderin' why ya'd pull a gal this shade shy of bein' a widow from---"  
  
"FURY," Duke barked. "Watch your damned mouth or I will---"  
  
"Both of you, muzzle it," Steve cut in sharply, standing. "I need focus here, people, not snide comments or threats. Lady Jaye, can you do this?"  
  
She straightened up and lifted her chin. "Who's the Jay Bird in this coop? Of course I can do this, sir."  
  
The Captain gave her a tight smile. "Good girl."  
  
A flicker of worry crossed Fury's face. "I don't like this."  
  
"We don't have a lot of choice," Duke growled. He reflexively looked in the direction of the fort. "We used up a lot of time getting here. No telling what's happening to Hawk now."  
  
The SHIELD Director's pebbly eye narrowed at Duke. "That so?"  
  
Duke's hooded eyes locked onto the spy's, trying to bore past the shadowed brown stone of Fury's eye.  
  
"Is there something you two want to share," Steve asked with deceptive mildness.  
  
The two broke eye contact. "Nope," Fury said.  
  
"No, sir," Duke said evenly.  
  
"THEN FOCUS!"  
  
While Fury and Duke still burned from that admonition, Jaye asked, "Once I'm in, sir, what do you want me to do?"  
  
Steve pondered silently for a moment. "Father, does the village value the fort itself in any way," he asked suddenly.  
  
Their host blinked. "'Why do you ask?'"  
  
"It's ancient. I thought it might have historical or cultural value to your people," Steve said.  
  
The priest snorted. "'Any value of the past it might have had pales to the evil it draws. First it was Napoleon's Army, then the Prussians, the Nazis, the Communists, now it is the snake men! We would only be too glad if it were to fall off the face of the earth---'"  
  
Steve slammed the flat of his hand on the table. "Excellent!" He turned to Jaye. "Get as close to Hawk as you can, signal us, then dive for cover." The impossibly old eyes looked as cold as a glacier's heart. "We'll give you a very big distraction. Your job at that point will be to get Hawk outside the fort anyway you can, that includes throwing him out a window. Understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
"Father Drozd, I need maps," Steve said intently. "I need to know what routes the snake men use, the routes villagers use, and secret ways to get to the fort, ones that the other men didn't use."  
  
"'I need to check the maps in the archives,'" Father Drozd said, inclining his head towards the door to the church.  
  
"Get them then, please."  
  
"Just how're ya gettin' the little lady inta the fort," Fury asked as Father Drozd bustled from the room in a flurry of black robes.  
  
"Simple. She's getting captured," Steve said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Oh really?" Fury slowly looked Jaye up and down, making her turn red under his scrutiny. "I'll bet that'll make Cobra's night."  
  
Duke took one step forward as Jaye's chin rose, eyes flashing. Before either could do anything more Steve put a calming hand on their shoulders and patiently told Fury, "She's going disguised. Her car broke down on her way to see her grandchildren. She's been wandering the foothills for hours, hoping to find a village or a kind stranger. Instead she and her husband are going to have the bad luck of running into Cobra."  
  
Duke looked at him in utter amazement. "With all due respect, sir, that has got to be one of the lamest cover stories I've ever heard!"  
  
"Um, excuse me, sir." Jaye looked pained. "Did you say, 'husband?'"  
  
"You know this country," Steve said. "Tell me honestly, how many old ladies drive alone in this neck of the woods?"  
  
"Just about none," she admitted. "But---"  
  
"But the Padre said that Cobra kills the men," Fury frowned.  
  
Steve smiled grimly. "I know."  
  
Duke quirked an eyebrow. "Cover story more believable if someone gets shot?"  
  
"You got it, son."  
  
"Well," Duke said, a pleased grin spreading over his face. "That's more like it."  
  
"Yer all nuts," Fury grumbled as he shook his head. "So which one of ya poor bastard's takin' a bullet?"  
  
"I'll do it," Duke said quickly.  
  
"Oh no you're not," Steve said sharply. "You've still got a cracked skull. You are definitely not up to letting a bunch of Cobra goons kick you around and shoot you."  
  
"I was Black-Ops," Duke scowled. "I can take it."  
  
"Ooo, I love it when you get all macho and dumb like that," Jaye purred sarcastically.  
  
"Don't start, Fairborne," Duke said in a threatening voice.  
  
"Shelve the attitude, mister," Steve ordered. "You're not going with her and that's final."  
  
The hooded blue eyes glared right back at the older man. "Then who? You?"  
  
Steve grimaced. "Much as I'd like to, I don't think I'm the right man for this job. I wasn't made to let the bad guys walk all over me. No no, this mission requires someone else, someone who understands the necessity of a little pain for the sake of misdirection. A natural born trickster."  
  
All eyes turned to Fury.  
  
"Like a Raven," Steve said with a grin.  
  
"---?---Oh hell no!" Fury glared back. "Owl boy---"  
  
"Is plainly the best person to cover you and Jaye in the dark," Steve cut in. "On the other hand, he's the worst person to partner with Jaye."  
  
"38's a SHIELD Agent," Fury protested. "A spy!"  
  
"A Black Bullet," Steve corrected. "A sniper."  
  
"He was our double agent in GI Joe," Fury pointed out.  
  
Duke smirked. "And how long did THAT last?"  
  
"Listen, ya punk---"  
  
Steve raised his hand to forestall anymore protests from Fury. "Can you, his Director, honestly vouch for Low Light's abilities at Covert Ops?" He speared Fury with an intent blue glare. "Honestly?"  
  
The only sound Fury made was the grinding of his molars.  
  
Steve turned to Duke. "What's your evaluation of Low Light?"  
  
"Best damned night operative in the world," Duke said immediately. "Peerless marksman, great survivor, one hell of a poker face. Knows when to shut up and play dumb, which," he frowned at Fury, "I'm sure you know. But Covert Ops? Acting?" He shook his head. "He'd get himself and Jaye really killed out there." He sighed theatrically, his straight face betrayed only by his twitching lips. "No, Captain, you're right. There's only one man for this---"  
  
A man's shout of surprise from the church snapped everyone's heads towards the door.  
  
Steve whipped his shield pack from his back and hit the door like a battering ram. A beam of light hit him full in the face, temporarily blinding him before flicking away. "DROZD," Steve roared from the doorway.  
  
"Kapitan, NIE," the Father shouted.  
  
A voice like an October windstorm blasted through the dark. "STOP!"  
  
Steve threw out his arms to the sides, blocking the others from running headlong into the darkened sanctuary. "Low Light?"  
  
"Shhhhh..."  
  
Blinking the dancing purple spots before his eyes into submission, Steve could see the flashlight's beam methodically sweeping the rafters of the staggered three-peaked structure. Judging from where the beam originated from, Low Light was cautiously descending from the bell tower's ladder-like stairs at the back of the church, off to one side of the main doors. He made his way to the sanctuary from the far side of the pews, shining his light up the central peak as he approached. Steve could just make out a heavy cloud of dust floating down from the conical ceiling over the pews.  
  
In the silence, a curious, rhythmic slapping could be heard and the dry, weak rustling of something fluttering against wood.  
  
Low Light stopped in the sanctuary area, shining his light directly above into the lower pyramid shaped ceiling. Almost reluctantly, he looked around, staring hard at the unbroken window above the altar, as if expecting it to shatter. "I...don't think anything else is coming down," he finally announced. "It's safe."  
  
"Low Light, what happened," Steve demanded.  
  
The beam flicked down to rest on a pale Father Drozd, who sat ungracefully in the aisle under a rain of dust, tightly clutching a pile of old, yellowed maps to his chest. Just in front of him, still thrashing against the side of a wooden pew, was a large snake, impaled through the head by a hunting knife. The blade had caught it below the lower jaw, piercing the brainpan, leaving nothing behind but the muscle spasms of death throes, giving it the illusion of life.  
  
Father Drozd sneezed, then smiled weakly and waved a hand to show he was fine.  
  
"Blunt-nose viper," Low Light told them as the others hurried to Father Drozd. "It gets too hot in the summer, so they hunt at night." He eyed the twitching snake respectfully. "This is one of the biggest I've ever seen."  
  
"'The snake men find it amusing to leave us their pets,'" Jaye translated for the shaky Father Drozd as Steve and Duke helped him to a less grizzly pew to sit for a moment. "'The church is old, full of hiding places for these things. It is not the first time I was nearly bit...though,'" he glanced up, "'it is the first time one nearly fell on me.'" He looked at Low Light and moved his hand in a blessing. "'Thank you, my son.'"  
  
"What the hell was that thing doing up there," Fury demanded, glaring at the ceiling.  
  
"It's a rafter climber," Low Light told him as he passed Jaye his flashlight and crawled under the pews. After a moment he crawled back out, holding something very carefully in his hands. "A bird-eater," he whispered, showing them the snake's intended prey. It was small thing, no bigger than Low Light's hands. It's pin-sharp talons kicked out feebly and it's curved beak opened and closed silently. Blood pumped too rapidly from four deep gashes in its little chest. "Very poisonous."  
  
"Poor thing," Jaye sighed as she looked at the small bird, its movements slowing. "It's beautiful."  
  
"Yeah," Low Light said. "It is." He gently tilted the bird back, mindful of its pain.  
  
"What is it," she asked.  
  
"A kestrel," Low Light whispered, cradling it's little head on the web between his thumb and index finger. "A sparrow-hawk." With a touch as delicate as falling snow, Low Light curled his thumb and finger into the soft, warm feathers...and snapped the hawk's neck.  
  
"A bad omen." 


	16. Gilded Cage

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan. I've incorporated aspects of the cartoon into this story as well, where it fits.  
  
*'The Manchurian Candidate,' staring Frank Sinatra and Angela Lansbury. A black and white movie from the 60's about an American solider brainwashed to become a Communist assassin. The double triggers to put him in a trance were the phrase, "How about a little solitaire to pass the time," and the sight of the Queen of Diamonds. (Very good. I recommend it.)  
  
****WARNING!!**** This is my most risque chapter to date. I would actually place this under the rating of "R." So if nudity, sexual situations, abuse/torture and things like that offends you...DON'T READ THIS CHAPTER.  
  
You've been warned.  
  
**All right, now that the technical stuff's out of the way, I just wanted to say thank you all for your understanding and for all of your wonderful reviews. You people are the BEST!  
  
**Also...in light of current events...no matter your opinions about the war, I hope you'll join me in praying for our real live Joes. There's a candle in our windows, guys. Come home safe...  
  
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Hands, gentle and sure, drew Hawk slowly closer to the waking world, stroking and soothing the aches from his head, his neck, his body. He gasped as her touch released the quivering tension that had knotted muscles tight from dreamless unease, and sighed, feeling himself sink into an all- enveloping warmth, as if floating in warm water.  
  
He licked his lips, tasting the steam hanging heavily in the air, scenting the clean soap that surrounded him. He realized, with an odd spark of surprise, that he WAS immersed in warm water, with his head tilted back and pillowed against soft, feminine flesh. Strong, slender fingers massaged his scalp, cleaning his short hair in a rhythm as steady as when they kneaded dough.  
  
A small tender smile curled Hawk's lips.  
  
...Hueah...  
  
Her remedy for pain relaxed him, as it had always done when he went to her injured, shook up, or on those rare occasions he had stupidly decided to get good and drunk. She had never turned him away, had never scolded him, had never complained how hard it was to get soap. She had simply taken him in her arms and washed the pain away. It was a guilty pleasure he had missed so damned much since.  
  
...since she...  
  
"HELL AND DAMNATION," Hawk roared, launching himself away from the woman. Or tried to. Manacles clutching at his ankles jerked him off his feet. He hit the water hard, causing his shoulder to scream in so much agony that he thought he would black out.  
  
If he drowned in a bath, Shipwreck's heckling would never let his spirit rest.  
  
With that thought spurring him on Hawk tried to push himself up but found his forearms shackled together across his chest. He fought his way back up with his legs, gasping, his eyes burning from the dripping soap, blinding him. His feet slipped against slick tiles and he went down again. Strong hands, those of the unknown woman's, hooked under his arms and hauled him up, handling his bad shoulder roughly. Hawk choked violently as the raw hole in his flesh was wrenched hard.  
  
Screw. This.  
  
Coughing and sputtering through grit teeth, he twisted from her grip, half- swimming blindly through the waters as far from her as the chains allowed him, trying unsuccessfully to rinse the soap from his eyes. Unhurried splashing told Hawk that the woman was wading through the thigh deep water to get closer to him. "Stay the hell away from me," Hawk wheezed harshly, his voice echoing strangely in what sounded like an enormous room.  
  
The splashing stopped. "Zaranna," the cultured British voice asked dully, as if seeking council or permission.  
  
"Yes yes," a familiar voice sighed from the opposite side of the blinded Hawk. "Pity. I was quite enjoying the show."  
  
Zaranna.  
  
The whole hellish night came back to Hawk with the force of a crashing wave.  
  
He was in enemy hands.  
  
And, he belatedly realized as the air hit his wet skin, he was stark naked.  
  
Hawk immediately dropped back into the water and pulled his knees to his chest fast.  
  
"Ooo, I 'ad no idea your blush went down so far," Zaranna cooed.  
  
"Do you mind," he hissed through grit teeth.  
  
"Oh, come now, Gen'ral," Zaranna chuckled. "No need t'be embarrassed. In fact," she leered, "you're a sight better than I expected for a bloke your age."  
  
"So glad you approve," he snarled, feeling his cheeks burn hotter, frantically trying to gather his scattered wits. "NOW WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"  
  
"This? Simply a bath, Gen'ral."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Dunno. Cobra Commander's feeling very...civilized at the moment." Her voice became mockingly melodramatic. "Gracious, even, in 'is victory over 'is vanquished counterpart."  
  
"'Vanquished?'" Hawk snorted. "I'm not dead yet."  
  
"The night's still young," she purred. "And you've gots a midnight feast t'survive."  
  
"A feast," he demanded incredulously.  
  
"A feast," she confirmed. "The Commander wanted you t'sleep off th'drugs, be a little more responsive when 'e parades you in front of th'Big Mucky- Mucks." She laughed. "You're going t'be THE big surprise of th'night."  
  
"Goody," Hawk said dryly, trying to force his eyes open. "Do I get to jump out of a cake?"  
  
"I'd rather like that," she laughed. "After all, you're in your birthday suit already and---Gen'ral, did you get soap in your eyes," she asked suddenly. She tsked. "That will never do. Lilian? Be a duck and wash the soap from the Gen'ral's eyes."  
  
Once again the woman, Lilian, waded closer to him. "I SAID stay the hell away from me," Hawk snapped.  
  
A short pause. "The Commander told me to obey Zaranna," Lillian said dully, splashing closer still to him.  
  
He dodged.  
  
"Don't tell me you're afraid of a woman," Zaranna jeered.  
  
He bared his teeth. "Missy," he said as he scooted away from Lillian while trying to keep covered. "How stupid do you think I am?"  
  
She sighed. "Think, luv," she said. "If the Commander wanted you dead, we could have killed you while you were sound asleep."  
  
"You're the second woman to tell me something like that," Hawk said, evading Lilian while trying to keep her between him and Zaranna. "And you know what? I didn't trust her and I sure as hell don't trust you!"  
  
Fast as a snake strike, a whipcord arm lashed around his throat and hauled him back as far as the chains would go, forcing his back and legs straight as he was pulled taunt in the waters. He twisted in the chokehold, but his attacker had the better leverage, and a bony elbow that ground mercilessly into his bad shoulder.  
  
"Oh, very wise, luv," Zaranna whispered into his ear, rubbing a soft, thick towel roughly against his scalp and his face while he strangled in agony. "After th'two million you cost us, you shouldn't trust me. Not at all. In fact, " she said huskily, sliding the towel over his nose and mouth, "there ain't nothing I'd like better than t'just do you right 'ere." Her arm tightened around his throat, pulling the healing flesh of his neck apart. "Slow." She gave his eyes a final swipe and pressed her lips against his cheek. "But the Commander ain't got 'is money's worth from you yet, so you get t'live a bit longer." She shoved him back into the water.  
  
Hawk scrambled away, curling his bruised knees to his shackled arms, inhaling great gulps of air and blinking rapidly, too greedy for oxygen to cuss at the fire lancing his shoulder and slashing his neck.  
  
Coughing violently, Hawk squinted and peered around.  
  
The windowless room was every bit as large as he thought it was. The room was illuminated by soft lights cast by the central crystal chandelier hanging from the domed ceiling painted with epic depictions of fantastical Cobra victories. The soft light trailed down the gold-veined white marble columns lining the circular room, reflecting off the matching tiles, touching the gilding of the Napoleonic backless chairs, and shimmered against the bubbly surface of the sunken pool-sized tub he was in.  
  
It reminded him of Liberace's Vegas bathroom.  
  
"Didn't 'urt you too badly, did I, luv?" Zaranna, dressed in her typical Dreadnok wear of hip-hugger jeans and a pink top, calmly wiped his blood from her elbow and kicked her bare feet at him, splashing him.  
  
With an effort, he managed to rasp out, "That...the best...you can do?"  
  
"Of course not, Gen'ral." She flicked out a finger. "THAT'S th' best we can do."  
  
Careful to keep Zaranna in the periphery of his vision, Hawk turned slightly. A beautiful young woman, he assumed she was Lilian, stood in the water a short distance away from him. The red Cobra insignia blazed across the top of the blue leather that barely sheathed her athletic body, showing more of her mocha skin than it covered.  
  
Hawk frowned. There was something very wrong about the girl's eyes...  
  
"Lilian, do you remember what I told you t'do if th' Gen'ral got soap in 'is eyes?"  
  
"Yes, Zaranna," she said dully.  
  
"Well what are you waiting for?" The Dreadnok clapped her hands smartly. "Jump t'it!"  
  
Lilian cocked her hand back---  
  
Hawk braced himself.  
  
---and slapped herself hard.  
  
Hawk's jaw dropped as each blow rocked the girl's head back with a teeth- rattling snap, whipping the darkly burnished hair wildly about her face.  
  
She showed no signs of flagging.  
  
"Right pathetic you are, Lilian," Zaranna said softly. "But you know that already, don't you?"  
  
Lilian let her hands fall limply to her side. She didn't cry, didn't utter any sounds of pain.  
  
Her swollen face was totally blank.  
  
No emotion.  
  
No intelligence.  
  
No will.  
  
Absolutely nothing.  
  
"Forgive me, Zaranna," she droned in a voice that slurred slightly from the blows. "I don't understand, Zaranna. I live to serve, Zaranna."  
  
Hawk just stared at the girl, feeling his blood freeze in his veins.  
  
"You've gone all goose-bumpy, Gen'ral," Zaranna observed all too innocently. "Getting cold?"  
  
He turned his head and gave Zaranna a penetrating look, ignoring her question. "Why?"  
  
"Why what," Zaranna asked coyly. "Why're you cold? Maybe there's a draft."  
  
Hawk felt his lips contort into a snarl. "Why put her through the Brainwave Scanner?"  
  
"Oh, you recognize Mindbender's handiwork, do you?"  
  
"What the hell else could do that?"  
  
"The old fashion methods I suppose," she said idly, inspecting her nails. "Like in that old movie, 'Th' Manchurian Candidate.' Cor, I was right impressed with that old biddy Lansbury. Watched it right after Road Pig made me watch that Disney drivel, 'Beauty and th'---'"  
  
"WHY?"  
  
She shrugged. "I suppose its because 'e's got the brains of a five-year--- "  
  
"Zaranna," Hawk hissed, "this surreal conversation is giving me a headache. Unless you plan on answering my real question, or plan on letting me go because the Queen of Diamonds told you to---"  
  
"Oh, you've seen th'movie too," she laughed delightedly, clapping her hands together. She leaned forward, her green eyes sparkling. "Just for that, I'll tell you," she whispered conspiratorially. "Our Lilian's 'ere's been a baaad little girl. She hurt the Commander REAL personal like and helped her boyfriend try and take over Cobra." She grinned evilly. "Bad move on 'er part, since lover-boy couldn't hold onto power. But lucky for 'im, 'is Daddy's Destro. And, of course, Daddy dearest just couldn't let Junior die. SO! Destro pledged a debt of bloody honor t'th' Commander in exchange for Junior's life and sealed that pledge with a gift...our little Lilian. T'do with as 'e pleased. And th' Commander does so love humiliating you, don't 'e, Lilian."  
  
"Yes, Zaranna."  
  
Hawk shivered.  
  
"Anyone ever told you 'ow informative your skin is, Gen'ral," she purred. "Goose-bumpy AND pale. Something disturbing you?"  
  
He glared at Zaranna. "I'm losing blood," he hedged.  
  
"Hmm...so you are." She sighed. "Can't be having that. You got a dinner party t'be at in a few hours. Lilian, dear, th' Gen'ral---"  
  
"No," Hawk said flatly. "She's not touching me."  
  
"Whyever not?" Zaranna's green eyes sparkled maliciously. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy her touch before. I gots me two eyes, you know."  
  
Hawk felt his skin flame. "Congratulations. Vital intel that'll conquer the free world, I'm sure." Fighting down his discomfort, he looked into Lilian's empty eyes. "It won't happen again," he said stiltedly.  
  
"Oh NO," Zaranna laughed, thumping the wet tiles with glee. "Are you're trying t'be a bloody officer and a GENT'LMAN about all this?"  
  
"I wouldn't laugh if I were you, Zaranna," Hawk said tightly.  
  
"Why," she snickered. "Because I'm a woman and should 'ave more sympathy for 'er plight?" She snorted. "Please. She backed the wrong side and now she's paying the price for 'er stupidity. She deserves whatever 'umiliation she gets."  
  
He just looked at Zaranna, his face studiously blank. "Some might say the same thing about you," he said carefully.  
  
"Oh," she cooed. "Do tell."  
  
"Most of my Joes had a good laugh when they heard you got usurped by a teenager."  
  
The mirth dropped from Zaranna's eyes. She flung her short pink hair back, trying to hide her reaction. "Only temporarily, luv." She smirked. "YOU'RE my ticket back into Zartan's good graces."  
  
"Do you honestly think ANYTHING you do will convince him to give you the Dreadnoks when he retires or passes on?" He snorted. "Why should he when his daughter, his own child, is young enough to take the reigns for decades to come?" His voice dropped low and intense. "Why should he give you a second shot when her loyalty's never. EVER. Been called into question."  
  
Zaranna froze, the blood draining from her face.  
  
"Afterall," Hawk continued, his eyes narrowing, "your brother's not as forgiving to you as I am to my Joes."  
  
Zarann shot to her feet, eye blazing beryl fire. "Get out," she hissed to Lilian.  
  
The girl hesitated.  
  
"Didn't you 'ear me, you bloody cow," Zaranna snarled, jumping into the tub. "Get out, GET OUT!" She dragged Lilian out and practically tossed her through the hidden door in the tiled wall. "GET THE 'ELL OUT! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, YOU BLOODY GIT?"  
  
"Umm..." a voice hemmed just outside the door. "Is, uh, everything OK---"  
  
Zaranna grabbed the Viper guard by the helmet and smashed his head into the doorframe. "Idiot," she snarled, shoving him out the door. She pointed a finger at his partner. "No one, and I bloody well mean NO ONE goes in 'til I'm done. Got me?"  
  
"YES, MA'AM!"  
  
She pulled the door shut and spun, her eyes furious...and a touch fearful? "What the 'ell do you know?"  
  
"I'm not as clueless as my Joes think I am," Hawk said, shifting to face her directly while keeping covered. "I suppose Mainframe ought to be flattered," he mused. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone go through such great lengths to get someone out of their system."  
  
"I'm not trying t'get 'im out of me system," Zaranna hissed, kicking open a tile to reveal a hidden control panel. She slammed her bare heel on a button. "'E was never in me system."  
  
Something, it sounded like a motor, came to life. Before Hawk could brace himself he was yanked underwater, the chains shackling his ankles together dragged him along the bottom until there was no slack left. He was held fast to the center of the tub. He pushed his head out of the water and sat up, shaking the water from his hair and face, coughing.  
  
"I flush flings like 'im out as soon as I'm done with them," she scoffed, slamming her heel on another button. The motor died to be replaced by a whooshing noise.  
  
The tub's water level started to drop.  
  
"A fling?" Hawk snorted. "Bull. RoadPig's a fling. An unstable, hulking waste of space Dreadnok whose idea of a mental challenge is whapping people with a Scrabble board!" Hawk scowled. "You never liked to do anything easy or safe before, Zaranna. You could have done a lot better but for once, you got scared!"  
  
"SHUT UP," she screeched, hurling a chair at him.  
  
He ducked. The chair missed and crashed into the shallows with a crack. He scowled defiantly as she snatched up a handful of towels and jumped into the now ankle-deep waters, wading towards him with anger in every step. "Face it," he continued bluntly, "you're with RoadPig because your brothers approve of him, he'll do anything you tell him to, and he's the COMPLETE opposite of---"  
  
The ringing slap across his face caught Hawk by surprise.  
  
And from the look on Zaranna's face, it surprised her too.  
  
She quickly recovered and clamped the towels onto his bleeding neck and shoulder hard, applying far more pressure than necessary to stem the flow. "You're a fine one t'be lecturing me," she snarled. "YOU face it, dearie. Only reason you hooked up with your little baker is because she was there and you were just dying for a chance t'take your fun-gun out of your pants-- -"  
  
"Watch your mouth," Hawk hissed furiously.  
  
"I wonder," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear, "did you really think that she loved you?" She ignored the venomous look he shot her. "But if she loved you so much...why th'lies? Why not turn from th'dark side," she asked mockingly. "Why use you like that? Why, why, why, why--- "  
  
"I said I don't trust you," he snarled. "What the hell makes you think I believe you?"  
  
She chuckled throatily. "Oh, you still think she was an innocent, do you? Think I tampered with th'documents on 'er? Oh, don't look so surprised. Of course SHIELD 'as an extensive file on you. Lots of files, in fact. I know things, some as recent as that grenade incident in th'Wright-Patterson mess hall---very extreme reaction by the way, luv. Didn't know you were THAT set against cooks serving ham and lima beans while on base." She chuckled again. "Zandar and I were in stitches over that one."  
  
"Winters could have told you about that," Hawk said, feeling unease churn in his stomach.  
  
"Could Winters 'ave told me about th'Cadet Chapel at your West Point?"  
  
Hawk cursed his own skin five ways to Sunday as he felt it chill and bump. Zaranna had to have noticed.  
  
"Aw," she cooed. "Still embarrassed? You shouldn't be. Who would 'ave thought a plebe could climb t'the top of the bell tower just t'hide 'is valuables from the upperclassmen?" She snickered. "Like your Captain America memorabilia collection. Honestly, Gen'ral! Now THAT'S something t'be embarrassed about."  
  
Hawk tensed and squeezed shut his eyes, barely able to let himself hope...  
  
...could it be she didn't know...?  
  
"I also know you wanted t'get married there after your tour in 'Nam. Even booked a day, you were so sure your CO would finally give 'is blessing and help get 'er to the states." She grinned slyly, her voice dropping an octave. "Or were you so sure you'd 'ave 'er knocked up by then, giving your CO no choice but t'let 'er go t'th'States?" She laughed. "Very slick planning, Gen'ral. 'E couldn't let 'is officers be leaving little American citizen all over a war zone if 'e could help it, now could 'e? Only one problem." She looked at him with false pity. "Your dear-heart baker didn't want t'go t'America. That's why she never told you she was pregnant...and she never intended to." She pulled back slightly, waiting for the implications of her statement to sink in.  
  
Hawk turned paper white.  
  
"Well," Zaranna said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Is THAT all it took t'gets the bleeding under control?"  
  
"GO TO HELL!"  
  
She grabbed his hair and yanked his head back hard. "Didn't you know, luv? You and me..." She pressed lips close to his ear. "...we're already in Hell. The only difference is that I'm making th'best of it. You, on th'other hand..." She chuckled and abruptly gripped his hair harder. "...you think learning th'truth about your little baker is th'worse thing that can happen t'you? Oh no, dearie. Not by a long shot. You've seen our Lilian."  
  
Hawk glared at her, his red rimmed eyes hard and defiant as an agate blade.  
  
But he couldn't hide the wave of cold bristles that raised every hair on end.  
  
"Well, well," she smirked. "I think we've found something th'big bad Tomahawk fears. But don't worry, luv. I'm sure th'Commander won't make you nearly as mindless as Lilian. Mindlessly devoted t'him, maybe, but not totally mindless. Unless 'e decides t'just suck your brain dry and leave you a husk, but that seems awfully wasteful t'me." She gave a dramatic sigh, pretending not to notice the General's tensing muscles. "Still, I think I could find a use for you. Won't need a brain for a bit of fun. RoadPig proves that." She brushed her lips over his. He jerked violently out of her grasp, wiping his mouth against his shackled arms. She laughed. "You and me could make videos and send them t'Mainframe---"  
  
"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"  
  
"THEN YOU SHOULN'T 'AVE BROUGHT 'IM UP!"  
  
"Haven't you hurt that man enough yet," Hawk rasped.  
  
She stood and planted her fists belligerently on her hips. "No," she said curtly. "Not nearly enough. And seeing you knob me will hurt him very, very much. Maybe even makes him hate you. And if 'e can hate you, maybe 'e can finally hate me." She turned away, her voice so low he almost didn't hear her whisper, "And then maybe I can hate 'im back."  
  
"Zaranna---"  
  
"I'm going t'gets a medical kit," she told him shortly. "Go ahead and 'ave a good cry. After all," she said as she climbed out of the tub, "you've got lost t'cry about." And with that she marched out of the room, leaving Hawk alone, cold, naked, bleeding, grieving...  
  
...and scared.  
  
The Brainwave Scanner...  
  
...but Zaranna didn't know---  
  
That didn't give him much hope.  
  
"'The tree of liberty must be watered periodically with the blood of tyrants and patriots alike,'" he had told his grim psy-op so many years ago. "For one of us, maybe all four of us, our time will come..."  
  
...and his time was now soon.  
  
He leaned his forehead against his bound arms and licked his lips, still tasting the lingering tang of the metal shackles there.  
  
Metal, he suddenly remembered. She tasted like metal.  
  
Memories of another woman's hand flashed across his skin, trying desperately to stop his blood from flowing out of him, her lips alternating between breathing life into him, begging him to stay with her, and screaming Gaelic profanities at the men she shot back at.  
  
Metal, he remembered. Lady Jaye tasted like the metal of a claymore sword, sharp with fear and steely with resolve.  
  
The resolve to get them out of Borovia alive.  
  
His guiding star.  
  
...  
  
Dammit, it wasn't his time yet! That woman had promised him a godchild if he survived Borovia and by thunder he was going collect!  
  
'Vanquished,' Hawk thought with disgust. He was in enemy hands, in an unknown location, chained, weaponless, wounded and emotional beaten, but he sure the hell wasn't vanquished!  
  
Captain America and his Joes were out there, looking for him.  
  
And, God help him, so was Fury and SHIELD.  
  
They only needed more time to find him.  
  
And if Cobra Commander was foolish enough to parade his 'vanquished counterpart' around like some kind of trophy, then Hawk was going to take full advantage of his 'graciousness.'  
  
Somehow. 


	17. Bloody Black Bird

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
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"I thought you said no one drives here, Doug," the sandy haired truck driver grumbled.  
  
"So I was wrong," his partner shrugged.  
  
The driver irritatedly adjusted his royal blue baseball cap, the word ARBCO embroidered in crimson across the front, and glared at the rust heap of a Yugo that struggled up the mountain road, chugging along at a pitiful 35mph. "Damn locals. Making us late with this delivery. Cobra Commander'll fire us if we're late."  
  
"You mean shoot us."  
  
"Same thing. He still might. Man, I don't know about this stuff from that local warehouse. They're not exactly prime quality ingredients."  
  
"Beggars can't be choosers, pal. Our pantry only had enough fancy stuff for the officers so they didn't get suspicious. You want to explain to the Commander where our food budget's really going?"  
  
"Hell, no! I like breathing fine, thanks." He wiped his brow. "Man, if we had just gotten a little more notice about this big shin dig---"  
  
"No use complaining now."  
  
"Says you!"  
  
"Look, Fred, if those mamby pamby Iron Chefs can whip up a feast in an hour, then it should be no problem for us, right?"  
  
"Only if we can actually make it to the fort before our food spoils." He gave the horn one long pull. "C'MON, GRAMPS," he yelled out his window.  
  
"Yeah, go ahead and yell. Like they can actually understand English," Doug sneered.  
  
"Stupid locals," Fred muttered. He glanced at his watch and grimaced. "Dammit, we're---oh no."  
  
The Yugo began to sputter ominously. Thick steam oozed from under its hood.  
  
"No," Fred moaned, slowing the truck. "No, no, NO!"  
  
The car gave a thunderous backfire once...then came to a shuddering, complete halt.  
  
Fred leaned his forehead against the steering wheel as he brought his truck to a stop.  
  
"Maybe they can start it up again," Doug said hopefully.  
  
The sickly revving from the Yugo's engine quickly dashed that hope to pieces.  
  
"We are so screwed," Fred moaned.  
  
"Oh, for---" Doug broke off as the Yugo doors opened.  
  
A wizened old man with a bristly beard and an elderly woman timidly stepped out of the car. Raising their arms to shield their eyes from the truck's headlights, the elderly couple made their way to the driver's door. The old man blinked rapidly and turned his watery brown eyes to Fred. "Je mi luto," the man began, his voice wavery from trepidation and age.  
  
"What the hell did he just say," Fred demanded to Doug.  
  
"Ah," the old man beamed, relaxing slightly. "English you. Of car, say I sorry---"  
  
"Sorry? SORRY?!" Fred reached for the holster bolted to the side of his seat and whipped out a Glock. "I'll show you sorry," he snarled.  
  
Wide-eyed, the woman pressed her fists to her mouth, rooted to the spot and mute with terror.  
  
The old man didn't suffer from such paralysis. Pale as paper, he turned to flee.  
  
Fred mercilessly shot the old man twice in the back, felling him instantly.  
  
Blood splattered the old woman, cranking her terror higher, freeing her voice. Shrill with hysterics, she threw herself to the ground and covered her head with her arms, shrieking.  
  
"SHUT UP," Fred roared, aiming his Glock at her.  
  
"Hey, whoa there," Doug said, placing a restraining hand on his friend.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"For the love of---We're behind schedule, right?"  
  
"Yeah. So?"  
  
"SO if we stuff the staff with more hands, that means we'll get BACK on schedule. Maybe even ahead."  
  
"---OH! I get it!" He scowled. "But what if she doesn't cook?"  
  
Doug leaned forward. "Hey, you," he yelled at the hysterical woman. "Do you cook?"  
  
She kept screaming.  
  
"Useless," Fred snarled, taking aim.  
  
Doug whacked him on the back of the head.  
  
"HEY!"  
  
"Just cover me," Doug told him, pulling out a pair of cuffs and his own Glock. He hopped out of the truck's cab and made his way to where the woman was curled up, still screaming. He prodded her sharply in the ribs with his boot. "Shut up!"  
  
Gasping wildly, she looked up, her green eyes wide and glowing with stark terror.  
  
"Do you cook," he asked her curtly. "What's the word," he muttered to himself. He pointed a finger at her. "Kucharka?"  
  
She just looked at him, shaking, her wrinkled face slack with grief, horror, and no comprehension.  
  
"Hey! I asked you a question!" He grabbed her by the wrist, yanked her to his eye level, and shook her hard. "KUCHARKA?"  
  
"ANO," she wept, terrified, nodding violently in affirmation, feebly trying to push away from him. "Ja kucharka! JA KUCHARKA!"  
  
He shoved her back to the ground. "Well, kucharka good, you live," he said, giving her a thumbs up. Then he turned his thumb down. "Kucharka bad...." He drew a finger across his throat then pointed to her husband. "Understand?"  
  
Tears welled up in her eyes and she looked fearfully at the bloody body of her husband, crumpled at the side of the road. Covering her mouth with trembling hands, she finally nodded.  
  
"There we go," Doug said, satisfied. He cuffed the cowering woman and dragged her to her feet, pushing her a short distance down the road and giving her a helpful boost into the back of the refrigerated truck. "Don't break anything back there or..." He waggled his pistol meaningfully at her. He shut the doors before she could respond, walked back to the cab, and eagerly climbed back in, greeted by the sounds of 'Cold Slither's Greatest Hits CD.'  
  
"Where's the woman," Fred asked loudly, carefully backing the truck up.  
  
"Got her secured in the back," he yelled back.  
  
"In the cold storage? Are you nuts? She'll crack all the eggs!"  
  
"Don't worry," Doug loudly reassured him. "I got across if she broke anything back there, I'd shoot her!"  
  
"I didn't get a real good look at her," Fred yelled as he shifted gears. "Don't suppose she was---"  
  
"Tight ass, but uglier than wilted spinach and twice as wrinkled," Doug yelled back.  
  
"Damn!" Fred slammed down on the accelerator and the truck lurched forward, spraying the body of the old man with gravel and dirt. The truck rammed into the little Yugo hard, sending it careening off the road and tumbling down the side of the mountain. "What the hell happened to fame, fortune, and fast women?"  
  
"What can I say? The life of a Kitchen-Viper ain't for the weak of heart!"  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
The silver-haired old man lay crumpled just off the side of the road, his right eye closed, his left slightly bulging from its socket, staring sightlessly at the darkened mountain road. Red liquid spread across his drab homespun from the holes in his back.  
  
From out of no where, strong opposing winds buffeted the road, kicking up clouds of swirling dust, coating the thick red liquid and still body with a fine layer of grit.  
  
The winds died to nothing.  
  
Everything was still once more.  
  
With the suddenness of a blink, two hovercars decloaked on the road. Low Light tumbled out, rifle raised and ready for trouble, scanning the night. "Clear," he barked. He glanced over the edge and shook his head. "That Yugo's scrap, sir."  
  
Duke quickly jumped out of the other hovercar, Beretta in hand. "Hell, it was scrap to begin with," Duke muttered. He looked over his shoulder into the hovercar's interior. "Don't feel too badly, Captain. Father Drozd did say we could use it as we needed to. We can recompensate him with something better later."  
  
Captain America stepped from the second hovercar and paused, staring at the body sprawled on the road. "Father Drozd's car is the least of my worries," he said in a tight voice. He jerked his chin towards the body and took a deep breath. "Is he...?"  
  
Carefully avoiding the oozing blood, the Second felt for a pulse along the old man's neck. Duke pursed his lips and sighed. "Yep," he said, pushing the eye back into its socket. "Too bad."  
  
The sightless eye suddenly blinked furiously. "'Too bad,'" the old man snarled. "'TOO BAD?!'" He pushed himself onto his hands and knees. "Friggin'DAMMITsonofabitch," he swore with a gasp. He glowered at Duke. "I survive this crackpot plan and all ya can say is 'Too bad?'"  
  
"Whine, whine, whine," Duke muttered. "I swear, not even the greenest Greenshirt whines this much!" With one hand, he ripped open the back of the man's homespun shirt to reveal the bulletproof vest beneath, liberally draped with blood packets.  
  
"HEY!"  
  
The Second gave the kevlar-covered armored-plates a sharp rap with his knuckles and a blood packet burst open. Ignoring the old man's protests of pain, Duke jerked him back into an upright position, unbuckled the vest, peeled it off, and exposed the scarred, bruised, but otherwise undamaged flesh beneath. "There, Colonel. You're fine. Happy?"  
  
Fury glared at the Second, flipped him off, then jammed the finger up his own left eye socket. "Next time ya want someone shot," he growled, scooping the glass eye out with a sickening pop, "ya can catch the damn bullet yerself!" He glared at the Captain. "Couldn't give us a faster heads up about the change in plans, could ya?"  
  
"Sorry, Nick." Steve held out a hand to the SHIELD Director and helped him up. "I know you two weren't expecting to meet up with any Cobras until further up the road, but an opportunity presented itself." He nodded to the truck's tire tracks. "I wanted to take advantage of it. Was Jaye prepared when you moved?"  
  
"Only just," Fury rasped, tossing his glass eye from hand to hand. "Didn't get a chance ta test the transmitter in her false teeth, though."  
  
"No time like the present." Steve tapped out a secured frequency on his wrist-com. "Eagle to Jay Bird."  
  
Silence.  
  
"C'mon, Jaye," Steve muttered. "Eagle to Jay Bird."  
  
Still nothing.  
  
"Broaden the transmission band," Fury suggested.  
  
Duke shook his head. "Don't do it, sir."  
  
"Listen, dog-boy," Fury snarled.  
  
"This isn't about you, Colonel," Duke snapped. "Captain, I know what Cobra's capable of. If we broaden the band any more, we run the risk of tipping our hand."  
  
Steve's brows furrowed. "She's not answering."  
  
Duke held up both hands. "Please, sir, just keep trying. Jaye's breaking in new equipment she's never handled before. It's just taking her a little while to activate it, that's all."  
  
The Captain gave the Second a thoughtful look. Slowly, he nodded. "Eagle to Jay Bird," he repeated for the third time.  
  
"...jay bird here..."  
  
Duke let out a puff of relief, echoed by the rest of the men.  
  
"Jaye, how are you doing," Steve asked softly.  
  
"Dandy," she whispered. "Found a way to beat the summer heat. They threw me into the back of a refrigerated truck."  
  
"Refrigeration transport? Fer food?" Fury grinned. "Is that why they were askin' if she could cook?"  
  
Duke scowled. "Damn! That would have been a good way for us all to sneak in. It's still not too late, Captain. We can catch up with them---"  
  
Steve covered his wrist-com with his hand. "And do what," he demanded. "We still don't know where they're holding Hawk in that place."  
  
"Knock some Vipers out," Duke shrugged. "Steal their uniforms, make them talk and---"  
  
"And when they miss their check-in times, the whole damned fort'll be on red alert, and then we can all watch Abernathy's brains fry," Fury finished matter-of-factly. "Cripes, YER the best Joe has ta offer?"  
  
Duke knotted his fists. "Fury. Back. Off."  
  
"Gentlemen," Steve hissed sharply. "If it's not too much to ask, can you two drop the pissing contest and act like professionals? We have a job to do now---"  
  
"...captain...," a muffled voice squeezed past the hand covering Steve's wrist-com. "...hello? Little bird here risking life and limb for intel? This is all a little pointless if no one's listening."  
  
Wincing, Steve whipped his hand off the wrist-com. "Sorry, Jay Bird," he said contritely, glaring at Duke and Fury. "I was taking care of some static. You were saying?"  
  
"I was saying, these boys aren't hauling ordinary chow. We're talking Grade A caviar, truffles, fois-gras, escargo, culinary gold dust, 1782 champagne---hell, there's even eight braces of peacocks with their feathers intact!"  
  
"Yummy," Fury muttered, rolling his glass eye. "Sophisticated grub."  
  
"He's there already," Duke said, clenching his fists.  
  
"Looks that way," Jaye whispered.  
  
"Who," Steve asked.  
  
The hooded blue eyes took on a hardened glint. "Cobra Commander. He's there."  
  
"But," Jaye interjected, "even with the Commander's penchant for gluttony, there's enough epicurean treats here to feed a platoon. I doubt this is all for just fang-face's midnight snacking."  
  
Duke inhaled sharply. "Cobra High Command?"  
  
Fury became very still.  
  
"My thoughts exactly," Jaye affirmed. "And if the volume of the supplies here add up, I'm willing to bet most of them will be there. Maybe all of them."  
  
"That changes things," Fury murmured thoughtfully.  
  
"Doesn't change a damn thing," Duke growled.  
  
"Nick," Steve said in an ominous, warning tone.  
  
"Think about it, boys and girl," Fury said harshly. "We got the core members of Cobra in one location. All it'd take is a quick tactical strike- --"  
  
"I thought you wanted the files on the Jugglers," Duke shot out. His shadowed eyes narrowed at the SHIELD Director. "That IS why you're really here, isn't it? Hard to find out where Hawk stashed them if we're scrapping his gray matter off of rubble."  
  
Fury's lips curled back. "And if Abernathy's brain's already fried? What then? The Jugglers AND Cobra going scott free while we fish a vegetable out? Or do we take out Cobra while we got the chance?"  
  
Steve recoiled violently. "I can't believe what you're suggesting," he hissed.  
  
"Believe it," Fury rasped. "Yeah, more than anythin' I want the names of the Jugglers. But if we can't have that...well, personally, I know I can settle fer some charbroiled snake---"  
  
"And put Hawk out of his misery, is that it," Jaye demanded, her low voice skirling with anger.  
  
"Yer the one who said ya'd rather shoot him yerself and give him a clean death," Fury reminded her.  
  
Duke's eyes flashed ice. "Fury---"  
  
"Don't get all affronted with me," Fury snapped. "I ain't spoutin' anythin' ya didn't think of already! Even you. Hell, 'specially you!" He marched up to the Second and went nose to nose with him. "Go on, Mr. Black Ops," he dared. "Tell me it didn't occur ta ya!"  
  
"It occurred to me," Duke said evenly with blunt frankness. "But I discarded it as soon as it popped into my head. Do you know why?"  
  
"Enlighten me," Fury sneered.  
  
"BECAUSE HAWK'S A JOE," Duke thundered, shoving Fury sharply in the sternum.  
  
Fury stumbled back with a grunt, dropping his glass eye. Steve immediately leapt between them, arms outstretched, keeping them apart. "Settle down," the Captain snapped.  
  
But Duke wasn't done yet. "Joes don't abandon our own for any reason," he hissed, his eyes blind to everything but Fury. "Minutes, months, years, IT DOESN'T MATTER! We get our own BACK by any means possible!" His eyes narrowed. "No matter what condition they're in."  
  
"And if Jaye finds he's already cold meat," Fury demanded. "What then?"  
  
Duke closed his eyes, his features twisted in pain. "Then someone will need to bring him home," he whispered. He turned away, his voice nearly inaudible. "Like Hawk did for Falcon."  
  
Fury looked puzzled, but before he could say anything, Steve cut him off.  
  
"Drive it in the hanger, Nick," Steve said softly. "Your recommendation has been heard and turned down." Tempered steel entered his voice. "Either we all go home, or nobody goes home." He raised his voice. "Does everyone understand?"  
  
"Yo Joe," Jaye said softly, but emphatically.  
  
"Yo Joe," Low Light echoed from the darkness, his voice clear on the wind.  
  
Duke turned to face them, his eyes flashing defiantly in the starlight. "Yo Joe."  
  
Fury grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him to one side. He covered Steve's wrist-com and whispered harshly, "Ya can't run an army like this, Cap."  
  
"Watch me."  
  
"Logistically---"  
  
"This isn't about logistics," Steve interrupted. "This is about the team's ethos."  
  
"Ethos be hanged," Fury growled. "The mission---"  
  
"Is to get Hawk out," Steve said firmly.  
  
"GI Joe's MAIN mission---"  
  
"We. Get. Hawk. Out," Steve grounded out. "Above all else, we get him out. If there's an opportunity for us to strike at Cobra without endangering that mission objective, we'll take it, but we get Hawk out. Period."  
  
"Yer lookin' at this through blinders, Cap," Fury spat. "Ya gotta see the big picture---"  
  
"Well, that's the difference between scavengers and hunters, Nick," Steve snapped. "Scavengers like Ravens can afford to look at the big picture. Everything and anything's an opportunity for them. Hunters like Eagles don't have that luxury. They get one shot per hunt. It's either the snake on the ground or the bird in flight, Eagles have to focus on one thing or the whole hunt's a wash."  
  
"That's a simplistic---"  
  
"It's the way I was made, Nick," Steve interrupted. "Why else do you think I have blinders?"  
  
Fury winced. "I HATE it when ya say stuff like that," he muttered.  
  
"But it's true," Steve pressed. "I told you once, Nick. I AM military technology. And I was made with blinders because sometimes that's the best way to get a job done. Now we can stand here and argue with Jaye listening in, or we can get ready to kick some of that snake-scale butt you were so anxious to skin."  
  
Steve moved to turn away but Fury kept a firm grip over his wrist-com.  
  
"'The tree of liberty must be watered periodically with the blood of tyrants and patriots alike,'" Fury whispered, staring intently at Steve.  
  
"But not tonight," Steve told him. His eyes narrowed. "I asked you once if I could trust you at my troops back," Steve hissed. "You told me I could." He fixed his friend with a steel blue gaze. "Has that changed too?"  
  
Fury's lips thinned. "No," his gravelly voice said, a touch...apprehensive? "That hasn't changed."  
  
"That doesn't sound too convincing, Nick."  
  
"Ain't me ya gotta worry about," Fury said.  
  
Steve tensed. "What do you mean---"  
  
"We gonna rescue the kid or not," Fury demanded loudly, dropping his hand from Steve's wrist-com. He bent down and scooped up his glass eye. "Time's awastin.'"  
  
Steve felt the eyes and ears of the Joes on him.  
  
He could have cheerfully strangled Fury for sidestepping his questions that way.  
  
But he was right. Time was wasting.  
  
"Mount up," he ordered the men. "Jay Bird, keep your head down and your ears open. We'll be in position soon."  
  
"Godspeed," she whispered. "Jay Bird out."  
  
Steve looked out at the star strewn night. "Almost there, kid," he murmured. "Just hang in there..." 


	18. Pecking Order

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
*This is a rough glossary for words and phrases uttered in this chapter:  
  
Gaelic annsachd = beloved  
  
French "J'y crois pas" = I don't believe this "Merde" = Shit  
  
*To those who nominated Warbirds for the Coltons...thank you. Wow^_^  
  
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James McCullen XXIV, Masked Laird of the Scottish Clan Destro, Head of the Military Armament Research Syndicate, and consort to the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray, looked around the underground hanger beneath the ancient Borovian fort...and sighed.  
  
He did not want to be there.  
  
"Destro!"  
  
He turned, instantly attentive to the exquisite beauty standing in the doorway of his private jet. "Destro," she repeated, admonition thick in her voice. "You would leave me to walk down these stairs unattended?" She tossed her long raven tresses over her shoulder and glared at him over her wire-frame glasses. "I THOUGHT I traveled with a gentleman!"  
  
The polished beryllium mask fitted over Destro's face, a creation of family tradition and cutting edge technology, flexed with the muscles of his face in a grimace. He unfurled a courtly hand to her. "Forgive me, my dear Baroness," he said, the Scottish burr of his voice low and deep. "I was lost in thought."  
  
A charmingly petulant expression crossed the Baroness' face as she lightly laid her hand on his. "And what," she demanded, descending the short flight of stairs to stand beside him, "could possibly be so absorbing as to make you forget your manners, darling?"  
  
He brought her hand to his metal encased lips. "I was thinking that this abrupt summons of Cobra Commander's had better truly be important."  
  
"Definitely," she snapped, her accent made all the sharper from her displeasure. "We are not his lackeys, pathetically awaiting the pleasures of his whims," she sniffed.  
  
"I quite agree." He gently pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "I would much rather be at home..." His eyes hungrily traced the curves of her skin tight black leather suit. "...awaiting the pleasures of your whims, annsachd."  
  
She looked away with surprising demureness. "James," she murmured, a smile softening her face.  
  
He hesitated a beat. "Will you not go home and wait for me, Anastasia," he whispered. "You, at least, should be spared from the madness that is Cobra Commander." He looked deeply, gravely into her eyes. "Alexander is MY son. He is MY responsibility." He stroked her porcelain features. "You do not have to share this burden---"  
  
The Baroness jerked her hand from his and stomped a high-heeled boot hard onto the stony ground. "How many times must we discuss this, darling," she demanded, her voice spiked with pique. "Alexander may not be MY son," she said with a mixture of bitterness and relief, "but you are my love, and the love of the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray is not a trivial force! Since you will not allow me to kill the whelp as he deserves, I must settle for seeing this...'debt of honor' you feel you owe the Commander paid off as quickly as possible." She smoothed one hand over the burnished mask, trailing her fingers over a polished cheek. "I want you all to myself again as soon as possible."  
  
Destro caught her hand and nuzzled her palm. "As do I." He kissed her hand one last time and sighed, lightly warming her skin with his regret. "I suppose we should get this over with then," he said, wrapping her hand around his left biceps. He drew a deep bracing breath. "Perhaps the Commander will spare us his ravings and get straight to the point."  
  
A sardonic smile quirked her lips. "Wistful thinking, darling."  
  
"Yes," he exhaled gloomily. "I know."  
  
He made a curt motion and four Grenadiers instantly bracketed the couple, marching down the corridors with parade smart steps. They swept through the torch-lit stone halls, up winding stairs and yet more halls, guided to their destination by Vipers snapping to attention as they approached.  
  
The aristocratic pair eventually came before a set of thick oak doors, heavily carved with a motif of entwining cobras. Two Vipers standing before the doors straightened and clicked their heels deferentially before grabbing the thick serpentine iron rings that served as door handles.  
  
The Baroness abruptly threw her hand up. "Wait."  
  
The Vipers and the Grenadiers froze.  
  
Destro cocked his head and looked at her curiously. "Anastasia?"  
  
"Shush, darling," she whispered softly. "Listen."  
  
In the silence, the deep voices of men echoed stridently from beyond the doors. Their exact words could not be discerned, but there was no mistaking their tones.  
  
Angry.  
  
Interrogative.  
  
And in the case of one man, terrified.  
  
The Baroness turned to her consort with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "This may be an amusing gathering after all."  
  
A smirk quivered on his metal lips. "Indeed. Let us see, my dear." He motioned to the Vipers, who quickly pulled the doors apart.  
  
In the small windowless room before an unlit fireplace, unaware of the newly arrived couple, two men towered above a cowering man seated in a leather armchair. Equally unaware in a similar armchair was a fourth man who sat directly across from the third, silent and glowering intensely at the poor man.  
  
The third man tugged at his long black mustache and pulled at the high collar of his purple coat. "---t-told you," he stuttered, dabbing the sweat beads from his baldpate with the snowy white linen tablecloth. "I-I don't know anything about your precious Crimson Guards---"  
  
"But, dear Doctor Mindbender, you DO know something," a strikingly handsome man interjected, his voice silky with threat. He threw a deceptively casual arm over the doctor's chair and leaned over him. "Come, come---"  
  
"---don't deny it," another man finished, an exact mirror of the other in face and posture, save for a deep scar running down his right cheek.  
  
Mindbender shrank deeper into his chair. "Xamot," he said in a wheedling tone. He turned to the unscarred twin. "Tomax, truly, I do not know where your Guardsmen are, I don't know what happened to them, I know NOTHING---"  
  
"Tut tut." Tomax placed a finger to Mindbender's white lips. "Let us see how you can know nothing."  
  
Xamot ticked off a finger. "We allowed the Dreadnoks to lease the services of one of our jets and flight crew."  
  
"They make a stop in Scotland---"  
  
"---dropping Zandar off---"  
  
"---whom you claimed to have just operated on before your journey here---"  
  
"---and then said jet and crew---"  
  
"---simply disappeared---"  
  
"---making you our only link to our vastly overdue Guardsmen," Xamot finished with an all-too white smile.  
  
"So where did they go after dropping the dear boy off," Tomax asked, plucking the doctor's monocle from his eye.  
  
"I-I don't know," Mindbender said, reaching up for his eyepiece. "I---"  
  
Tomax tossed the monocle to his brother, who deftly caught it. "Then where WERE they," Xamot asked.  
  
"What were they up to?"  
  
"And where," Xamot asked, tapping the top of Mindbender's head with the glass circle, "are the Crimson Guardsmen assigned to this fort?"  
  
"They did not greet their Commanders, namely my brother and myself, upon our arrival here," Tomax whispered in Mindbender's ear. "Disturbing---"  
  
"---a further inconvenience---"  
  
"---a troublesome mystery---"  
  
Mindbender frantically turned to the fourth man, silent thus far. "Major Bludd---"  
  
Fast as a whip crack, the one eyed mercenary jumped out of his seat and hauled Mindbender up by the lapels. "I've been coolin' me 'eels for an 'our now," Bludd growled, shaking the poor man as he squeaked in terror. "I'm meetin' a big client early tomorrow on a beach in Nice---a TOPLESS beach in Nice!" He jerked the terrified doctor closer until they were virtually nose to nose. "If this is a waste of me time, I wants t'know about it so's I can leave. NOW."  
  
"As do we all," Destro said loudly, boldly striding forward.  
  
Four heads whipped around with an audible snap.  
  
"Destro! Baroness," Mindbender squealed with sharp relief. "THERE, you savages! If you want to know what this is all about, ask THEM!"  
  
The four Grenadiers immediately leveled their rifles, closing defensively around their laird and lady. "By all means," Destro dared with velvet menace. "Ask."  
  
There was a brief, tense moment when the four men barely breathed, much less moved.  
  
Then, with a fluid grace oddly synchronized and faintly sarcastic, the twins sketched mirrored bows, carefully keeping their eyes on Destro's armed guards. "Destro," Tomax acknowledged calmly. "Dear Baroness."  
  
"So good of you to make it," Xamot said easily.  
  
Major Bludd shoved Mindbender back hard into his seat. "'Bout bloody time," he snarled, taking a step forward. "Why th'ell are---"  
  
The loud ratchet of four rifles bolting back in warning stopped him short.  
  
Bludd immediately backpedaled, raising his hands. "Hey! Easy on there, mate," he said placatingly. He jumped a little as he backed into the mantle. "No need t'be so touchy."  
  
"Then watch your tongue, Major, or I will remove it from your head," Destro snapped, assisting the Baroness into Bludd's vacated chair. "We have a lady present."  
  
"Ah. Yes." Bludd cleared his throat loudly and gave the Baroness a perfunctory bow. "So sorry, m'lady."  
  
"Yes. I'm sure," she purred cryptically.  
  
"Er, yes," the Major mumbled, smoothing his hands over his battle armor. "Destro. Now that th'pleasantries are out of th'way---"  
  
The twins smothered a bark of laughter.  
  
"---care t'tell us why th'Commader gathered us 'ere?"  
  
Destro snorted. "I have no idea. That paranoid fool has not deigned confide in us. But..." He turned a thoughtful gaze on the Crimson Twins. "The Baroness and I could not help but overhear the questions you put to our dear Doctor Mindbender...you are missing a jet and flight crew, correct?"  
  
All mirth dropped from the twins' faces. "You have them," they chorused flatly.  
  
"I have the jet, yes," Destro acknowledged gravely.  
  
"And the crew," Tomax prompted.  
  
"Dead," the Baroness stated blandly, tugging her gloves from her hands.  
  
The twins each raised an eyebrow. "That was hardly courteous of you," Xamot said with deceptive mildness.  
  
Destro stiffened. "We were not the ones who killed them."  
  
The Baroness smiled with deceptive tolerance as she explained. "It seems that the auto-pilot had been programmed to land at the Silent Castle. The crew was already dead when we found them."  
  
"If I did not recognize the jet as one of yours, I would have shot it out of the sky. But..." Destro paused with an ironic smile. "...out of courtesy to you both, I refrained."  
  
"Why did you not contact us sooner," Tomax demanded.  
  
"There was a dinner invitation pinned to the pilot," Destro said. "I thought I would wait to ask the two of you about it in person."  
  
The brothers turned to each other wearily. "The personnel roster will have to be reshuffled," Xamot sighed.  
  
"How tiresome," Tomax said with a shake of his head.  
  
"Remind me to never lease---"  
  
"---personnel to the Dreadnoks---"  
  
"---ever again," they both said tightly. Xamot turned to Destro and nodded stiffly. "I believe the Dreadnok's security deposit will be sufficient to recompense you for your troubles."  
  
"Perhaps," Destro mused. "Or perhaps I will simply keep the jet."  
  
"That is hardly equitable," Tomax protested.  
  
"I did give your men proper burials," Destro pointed out.  
  
"That is hardly our concern," Xamot countered.  
  
"Perhaps things like that should be," Destro said testily. "Then your Crimson Guards might actually show up for duty!"  
  
Tomax scowled. "Now see here---"  
  
The Baroness whipped out the riding crop resting at her belt and slammed it against the arm of her chair. "'Security deposits,' 'equitable compensations...' Oh, darlings, such talks of business can surely wait!" She rose gracefully from her seat, flexing the riding crop between her hands. "At the moment, we have more immediate and more interesting concerns." She sidled behind Dr. Mindbender, who had tried to sink as deep into his chair as possible. "Right now," she purred, tapping the tip of her crop playfully over the doctor's sweating bald top, "we should all ask Dr. Mindbender what he knows, since it's now obvious that the Dreadnoks are quite involved in this summons."  
  
"Quite right, my dear." Destro crossed his arms. "Doctor?"  
  
"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!!" Mindbender threw himself from his chair and scrambled against the fireplace. "Zartan didn't tell me anything! He only paid me to care for his brother---"  
  
"Why," the Baroness pressed, swaying slowly towards him. "What was wrong with dear Zandar?"  
  
"He-he had been shot," Mindbender panted. "In the knee. The procedure was quite---"  
  
She silenced him with a touch of her riding crop to his lips. "What kind of a bullet was it?" She tapped his cheek with the tip of the crop. "Speak up, darling."  
  
"A .45," he told her quickly.  
  
"Full metal jacket?"  
  
He nodded jerkily. "Yes! Yes, yes! It penetrated the kneecap cleanly but shattered the femur as it traveled further up his thigh. It finally lodged itself into the pelvic bone---the extraction was quite difficult, but nothing compared to realigning the bone fragments of the femur for proper healing---"  
  
"What's so bloomin' intrestin' 'bout Zandar's ruddy leg," Bludd grumbled.  
  
"Major," the Baroness chuckled, tapping him under the chin with the tip of her crop. "If you were to divert your attention from increasing your bank account or composing those lovely poems of yours, you would find the contents of Zandar's leg as fascinating as I."  
  
Bludd gently pushed aside the riding crop and leaned towards her with a fixed smile. "My dear, of course as a woman you would feel some compassion- --"  
  
A heavy metal gauntlet clamped down on the back of Bludd's neck and jerked him back, hard.  
  
"Do not speak so condescendingly to the Baroness," Destro hissed in Bludd's very pale face. "Her mind is far more discerning than yours." He threw the Major face first onto the ground and placed a booted foot at the base of his head. "What kind of work does Zandar do?"  
  
"What? Who cares---ACK! SPYSPY," Bludd yelped as Destro's boot grounded against his skull. "'E's a bloomin' spy!"  
  
"Competent?"  
  
"Gahk, YES," Bludd gasped. "A bloody master of disguise!"  
  
"Tell me, my good Major. Who commonly uses .45 FMJ bullets," Destro asked.  
  
"All sorts of---ARGH! Americans?"  
  
"More specific," Destro prompted.  
  
"...military," Bludd hazarded desperately.  
  
"And which division of the American military is astute enough to spot and shoot Zandar in disguise?"  
  
"...I---ACK! GI JOE!"  
  
"Excellent," Destro boomed, removing his boot from the Major. "So you see, gentlemen, dear Baroness, we are here because those idiot Dreadnoks have attracted the attentions of GI Joe!"  
  
"Oh, bravo, Destro," an echoing voice hissed throughout the vaulted room. "The others have been bickering for well over an hour without drawing the right conclusions."  
  
Everyone's eyes darted about, trying to find the source of that all-too- familiar voice. "Cobra Commander," Destro roared. "We did not come here to play these infantile games!"  
  
"This is NOT infantile," the harsh disembodied voice screeched. Then, abruptly, the voice laughed gleefully. "And a game is only in play if no one has won!"  
  
Destro closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
The Commander was in one THOSE moods.  
  
"Cobra Commander," Destro grounded out in a strained, barely patient voice. "Would you PLEASE grace us with your presence?"  
  
"Well...Since you ask so nicely..."  
  
Dr. Mindbender yelped as the mantle he had pressed his back against slowly rose with a thunderous grinding.  
  
"A secret door," the twins mused.  
  
"Always so bloomin' melodramatic," Bludd coughed, massaging his neck and throat.  
  
Once more, Destro offered his arm to the Baroness. "Shall we, my dear?"  
  
"If we must," she sighed, again wrapping her arm about his.  
  
Escorted by the Iron Grenadiers, the aristocratic couple strode into the castle's Great Hall, a windowless room writhing with borders of gilded baroque opulence that hazarded on the grotesque. Destro felt his lip curl back as he sourly noted the ghastly murals, an affectation that Cobra Commander had become fond of over the years. They showed him rallying against oppressive governments, stirring up the masses, personally leading Vipers in battle---corner to corner, wall to wall Cobra Commander, his face and figure splashed over every space allowed on the high vaulted cathedral ceiling and the walls. The dramatic posturing of each of them could easily have been dismissed as a ludicrous parody of high art except...  
  
...except the eyes, eerily life like, seemed to actually LOOK at him. The candlelight and crystal refractions cast by the central chandelier seemed to fill the multiple eyes with the same suspicious, murderous gleam, staring down at them intently, knowingly...  
  
...  
  
"What have I gotten us into," Destro murmured.  
  
"What we have all gotten into," a voice hissed.  
  
At the head of a long banquet ladened with crystal stemware and fine translucent china, a man in a crisp uniform of royal blue with elaborate gold braidings dripping from each shoulder sat in a gilded throne-like chair.  
  
Over his head, he wore a cloth hood of royal blue embroidered with the blood-red head of a hooded cobra on his forehead. Only his eyes were exposed...  
  
...the same suspicious, murderous eyes reflected in the murals.  
  
"What we have all gotten into," the man repeated, raising a hand sheathed in soft black suede. "Power," he hissed, clenching his fist tight.  
  
"Cobra Commander," Destro greeted warily, neutrally.  
  
"My friends!" The Commander rose and spread his arms wide. "Welcome! I am pleased to see that you could join me on this momentous occasion! Be seated. Refreshments shall be served, the last of our guests shall soon arrive, and then...then we shall feast together!"  
  
Destro held onto his gorge by sheer strength of will. "We did not come here to eat with you---"  
  
A streak of white glimpsed from the corner of his eye was all the warning Destro had. He spun---  
  
"DESTRO," the Baroness screamed, yanking her pistol free.  
  
There was a flash of metal and the high ringing sound of steel striking steel ringing three, four, five times in rapid succession.  
  
A carved chunk from the Baroness' pistol arched through the air and landed between Tomax and Xamot's feet.  
  
The twins sprang back into the petrified Mindbender. Major Bludd's hand flew to the butt of his own sidearm.  
  
The Iron Grenadiers sank to their knees and toppled to the floor, their helmeted heads bouncing a short ways before rolling to a stop at the blood- splattered white boots of their killer.  
  
"Bloody 'ell," the one-eyed man whispered.  
  
Crouching before Destro, silent and still as a tightly coiled snake, was Stormshadow...holding the razor edge of his outstretched sword to the pale, pale flesh of the Baroness' throat.  
  
The Scottish laird's fists clenched.  
  
The Baroness inhaled sharply as the blade indented her skin.  
  
"You were saying, Destro," the Commander asked politely.  
  
Brutally forcing the helpless rage from his voice, Destro calmly replied, "I was saying, Cobra Commander, that since you insist, we shall of course dine with you."  
  
The hooded man raised a languid hand and snapped his fingers.  
  
In one smooth motion the ninja lifted the blade from the Baroness, twirled the blood from his naked blade and sheathed it. He stalked past Destro and took his place just behind his master.  
  
"I am pleased," the Commander said silkily. He gestured to the chair to his immediate left. "Sit. All of you, sit!"  
  
Once again, Destro unfurled a courtly hand to the Baroness. Raising her chin and proudly refusing to wipe the blood from her neck, the Baroness holstered the remains of her pistol and took Destro's hand.  
  
Only he knew how much her hand shook.  
  
He gripped her hand tighter in wordless comfort before pulling a seat out for her.  
  
"Ah ah," the Cobra Leader chided Dr. Mindbender and Major Bludd as they reached for chairs. "Not the two seats to my right. They are reserved for the honored few who have pleased me." He swept the table with a gaze of sudden frost. "As you all have not."  
  
The High Command froze, breathless.  
  
"But no matter," the Commander continued cheerfully, reaching for an empty crystal flute. "Tonight, we wipe your collective incompetence from the slate and begin anew! LILIAN," he screeched. "LILIAN! Champagne for our guests!"  
  
The High Command took their seats warily as the empty-eyed girl scuttled into the Great Hall. The Commander snatched the bottle of Dom Perignon from her hands and, with a twist and a crude *POP!* the cork shot off in an eruption of bubbles. He threw his head back and laughed wildly, thrusting the overflowing bottle back into Lilian's hands. "Raise your glasses, my friends," he crowed as the girl poured an indecent amount of the bubbling liquid into the crystal flutes. "For you all have been given an unprecedented chance to prove yourselves truly worthy of being a part of Cobra's New World Order...or," he added, leveling his chilling gaze on Destro, "a chance to be revealed as expendable. Undesirable." The suspicious, murderous eyes narrowed. "Chaff."  
  
Destro felt the Baroness' hand tighten on his knee.  
  
Cobra Commander rose to his feet and lifted his champagne high over his head. Hastily, the rest of the High Command followed suit. "I propose a toast," the Commander said. "A toast first to our friends, Zartan and his family, for their...outstanding initiative in America." He paused, looking intently around the table. Puzzlement etched every face that stared back. "They haven't heard yet! Too delicious," he cackled softly. He raised his voice. "And another toast, to our 'esteemed' enemies, GI Joe!"  
  
Major Bludd's head snapped around. "WHAT?"  
  
"YES! To GI Joe!" Cobra Commander jabbed his crystal higher into the air, reveling in the spill of the golden liquid over his hand. "To Flint! May he never awaken from his coma!"  
  
The High Command immediately roused. Even the Baroness' carefully composed features cracked enough to show interest.  
  
"To Duke," he cried, swiftly clinking his crystal against Destro's. "May the memory of his dearly departed soul rot as his body now rots!"  
  
"Commander," Destro hissed. "What---"  
  
The doors to the Great Hall crashed against the wall.  
  
A smirking Zartan and Zaranna strolled into the Hall followed by the missing squad of Crimson Guards, who gingerly but firmly wrestled into the room a man dressed in the white shirt and drawstring pants of a Cobra prisoner.  
  
The twins inhaled sharply, preparing to blast their prodigal men with their displeasure...until they got a good look at the barefoot prisoner.  
  
His whole garb was made from brushed silk, including the swaths that tightly bound his crooked right arm to his chest and the gag that turned his shouts of outrage into senseless muffled noise. The chains that trailed from the shackle of his left wrist to the chains that bound his ankles together were thick, heavy, and gilded the same pale gold as his hair.  
  
"J'y crois pas," Tomax whispered, the Guardsmen forgotten.  
  
"Merde," Xamot spat.  
  
"My friends," Cobra Commander shouted in harsh, ringing tones. "Raise your glass especially high for our most honored guest tonight! TO HAWK! FORMER GENERAL OF GI JOE! Once called the Tomahawk, now called Benedict Arnold! Welcome MR.Abernathy to our table, my friends, by drinking to his health and the possibilities he brings to our cause! Mr.Abernathy," the Commander called out, unfazed by the deadly rage that burned in Hawk's eyes. "We of Cobra salute you!" He moved his hood aside just enough to raise the champagne flute to his lips and down the sparkling wine in three gulps.  
  
The High Command was too stunned to even move.  
  
"Please, Mr.Abernathy," the Cobra Leader said with malicious pleasure. "Have a seat." He gestured to the heavy, roughly made wooden armchair bolted at the foot of the table.  
  
"Oy," Zaranna snapped to the Guardsmen. "Steer clear of that mess on th'floor! Took a right long time t'gets our guest prettied up and I don't want 'im mussed." Her hard beryl eyes glinted. "Yet."  
  
Zartan's eyebrow rose at the decapitated remains. "Was there a problem, Commander," he asked as the Guardsmen stuffed their struggling burden into the offered chair and lashed him down tight.  
  
"Of course not, Zartan. Tomax. Xamot," the Commander purred. "Was there a problem?"  
  
The twins started out of their shock and quickly glanced at Stormshadow, who fingered the hilt of his sword meaningfully.  
  
"Of course not," Xamot said smoothly, his true feelings only betrayed by the twitching of his scarred cheek.  
  
"No problems at all," Tomax agreed. "Perhaps once the Guardsmen finish making Gen---er, MR.Abernathy comfortable, they should...clean up?"  
  
"An excellent suggestion," Cobra Commander boomed. "The cooks labored especially hard to create this feast. It would be such a pity to ruin it with the smell of spoiled meat. Don't you think so, Mr.Abernathy," he asked, gesturing to Zartan for the gag to be removed from Hawk.  
  
As soon as the silk had been unwrapped from his head, Hawk spat on the tablecloth and growled, "No one's stripped me of my stars yet, you gutless-- -mrph!"  
  
"Now now," the Commander chided as Zartan reapplied the gag to Hawk. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Your former counter-part? And perhaps," he added slyly, "your future employer?"  
  
Crystal flutes slipped from numb fingers as jaws dropped. Destro's head snapped completely around. "WHAT?!"  
  
Even Zartan's grip on Hawk's gag slipped. Already pale from blood loss and trembling from the exertion of his struggles, Hawk's wide dark eyes seemed to pop from his skull. "Mother and country," he whispered. He pulled his whitened lips back in a sneer. "I knew you were insane---"  
  
"And you are not stupid," the Commander retorted to everyone's surprise. "Think," he pressed, taking advantaged of Hawk's flat-footed silence. "True, no one has stripped you of your stars yet, but how long do you think it'll be before your precious bits of tin are taken from you? And what will you have after they are gone? A country grateful for services past rendered? HA! You have been formally charged with treason and therefore condemned in the fickle public eye! 'Mother and country,' you swear by," he said mockingly. "YOU HAVE NO COUNTRY! It has disowned you in all but letter, Mr.Abernathy, your career destroyed, and your beloved Joes taken from you and placed under the Jugglers' collective thumbs! Despite their saber rattling against all terrorist organizations, the Jugglers undoubtedly are in the process of dismantling GI Joe. No doubt they are redistributing your Joes to eager flunkies as we speak. The Jugglers have always dismissed me as a 'minimal threat.'" He set his crystal flute down with a loud thunk! "But you never did."  
  
The silence between the Commander and Hawk was thick enough to spread on toast.  
  
"Zartan," the Commander finally said. "Free Mr.Abernathy's left arm."  
  
Zartan started. "Is that...wise, Commander---"  
  
"ARE YOU QUESTIONING ME?"  
  
Zartan blinked and merely shrugged. He nodded to his sister, who held a gun to Hawk's head as her brother unwound the gilded chain from Hawk's limb.  
  
"What are you playing at, Commander," Hawk demanded, rotating his freed arm from wrist to shoulder, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.  
  
"I have a sumptuous feast prepared in your honor," the Commander said innocently. "It would be a pity if you were unable to partake in it."  
  
Hawk glared at the Commander.  
  
The Commander simply waited.  
  
Very slowly, Hawk pulled the folded napkin from the large plate in front of him and, with a practiced side-flick of his wrist, snapped it open under the table and draped it over his lap.  
  
"LILIAN," the Commander screeched in triumph. "Tell the Kitchen-Vipers to bring out the food!"  
  
"Nice etiquette," Zaranna commented with a smirk. "Not an officer no more but still ever the gent'lman?"  
  
Hawk ignored her. "I make no concessions for this," he told the Commander tightly.  
  
"Perhaps not yet," the Commander chuckled. "But by dessert, who knows," he added, eyeing Destro through narrowed eyes. "Perhaps by then, my dear Mr.Abernathy, I and every troop under me will be able to call you 'General Tomahawk' once more!"  
  
As a very angry Zanya came through the servant doors holding a tray of Waldorf Salads, Destro felt the Baroness slip her hand into his and squeezed hard.  
  
She had told him that her love was not a trivial force.  
  
He only prayed it was enough to help them survive past dessert. 


	19. Feral

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.  
  
*NOTICE: As of August 15, 2003 I have rewritten Chapter 14 "MIGRATION." It's mostly unchanged, but there is a new section in the middle. I hope you like it.  
  
*Phrases in Borovian (Slovak)...well, you'll get the general idea.  
  
******WARNING TO THE FAINT OF HEART********* If you are squeamish in anyway, DO NOT PROCEED. Trust me on this one, folks.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
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.  
  
Zanya kicked open the door to the kitchen and hurled the sterling silver serving tray across the room. The Kitchen-Vipers ducked. "HEY!"  
  
"WATCH IT, kid!"  
  
"If that walking-dead Joe geezer asks me to pass the salt and pepper ONE MORE freakin' time---"  
  
"Then you'll pass him the friggin' salt and pepper," the head chef snarled. "But you damned well better remember to put them back in front of Cobra Commander! Those shakers are symbolic of---"  
  
"I don't CARE," she shrieked into his face. "The COMMANDER doesn't care! NO ONE freakin' cares which fork goes where, why its gotta be THIS spoon serving fish and not THAT one, or what damned plate the bread goes on! Why don't that braindead Scanner bimbo take care of all this? I ain't no waitress---"  
  
"You are tonight," he retorted. "Your aunt volunteered you, remember? And if you pull any of this Dreadnok princess-snit-fit shit while there's food on your trays, I'm going to serve you up to your old man as a pot pie!"  
  
"Jerk off, fat boy," she growled, stomping away. "I knew we should have killed that desk jockey," she muttered. "Instead we haul his wrinkly butt half-way around the world for a damned hoity-toity tea party!" Her face twisted mockingly. "'Learn something tonight, ducky,'" she said, mimicking her aunt at her sickeningly sweet worst. "'This is what th'grown-ups do.' Big freakin' whoop." She stretched out a hand and scooped up a handful of cookies cooling on the table. "Talking people to death instead of just shooting them," she grumped, biting into a cookie.  
  
She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the cookie with a peculiar expression. "What the hell?"  
  
"Zastavit boj!" The woman baking the cookies bustled up to Zanya, glancing fearfully at the bustling Kitchen-Vipers. "Diet a, nesmies vziat si---"  
  
"Whatever, granny," Zanya said blithely, scooping the rest of the cookies into a bowl.  
  
"Zastavit boj," the woman snapped more forcefully, pulling the bowl from Zanya's hands.  
  
Zanya planted a hand over the old woman's face and shoved. The old woman fell with a graceless cry of pain and the bowl went flying. The pottery shattered on the floor, scattering crumbled cookies.  
  
"What's going on," the chef demanded, pounding up. He took in the scene with a look of horror and gasped, "The cookies for the sherbet...WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU STUPID COW?!"  
  
"Calling dibs on them," Zanya said matter-of-factly, leaning a hip against the table. She casually stuffed the last cookie she had into her mouth as the chef's face purpled. "They tasted rough anyways," she mumbled around the sweet.  
  
The chef sputtered angrily. "You---YOU---!"  
  
Zanya gulped the cookie down and scowled. "What the hell did you expect? I didn't get any dinner, I've been hauling around all this grub, and hey! I'm still a growing girl!" She bent over and snagged a chunk of cookie from the floor and dusted it off. "In other words, dip wad, I'm starving!" She popped the cookie into her mouth and chewed defiantly.  
  
"Spoiled little---!" The chef grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away. "I'm going to do what your old man should have done in the first place!"  
  
"Awww, don't be that way," she said, batting her eyelashes and spraying cookie crumbs with every garbled word. "But I gotta tell ya..." She dug in her heels, hauled back....  
  
He turned. "Listen, brat---"  
  
...and slugged him right in the nuts.  
  
The man dropped like a ton of bricks.  
  
"Don't touch me," she told the twitching man coolly, rubbing her knuckles. "And by the way?" She kicked him hard in the ribs. "Don't call me a cow." She snapped her fingers at one of the Kitchen-Vipers. "You. Dump his ass somewhere. He's blocking up traffic. And you!" She swung a finger at another gapping Kitchen-Viper. "Get me a plate of this fancy stuff. I'm starving. HEY! Don't let that over-boil! Yo, KEEP your eyes on that damned stove!" She glared at the still-gapping Kitchen-Vipers. "Well? Don't just stand there! MOVE!!!!"  
  
The Kitchen-Vipers all jumped and scrambled to obey.  
  
Zanya snatched up another broken cookie and scuffed her foot in the pile of broken pottery and cookie crumbs. "You, old lady. Clean this up and make up another batch." She dusted the cookie on her shirt. "And grind down the weird rough stuff in it. I don't want it making my Dad cough."  
  
The old woman blinked tearfully.  
  
Zanya rolled her eyes. "N-o-t---R-o-u-g-h? You understand?" She thrust the cookie under her nose. "More. You understand more?"  
  
Hesitantly, the old woman nodded.  
  
"Geeze," Zanya said, throwing up her hands. "I swear, if these cookies weren't so good I'd cap you." She spun away, crunching on the broken cookie as she walked off. "YO! Where's my grub?"  
  
Under a disheveled curl of lank silver, a pair of emerald green eyes narrowed at the girl's retreating back. Lady Jaye made a mental note to keep closer tabs on Zartan's little princess. If the child ever learned any subtly, she would become down right scary.  
  
But that was to be the future.  
  
This was now.  
  
And the child just gave her an opening to get to Hawk.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
The long banquet table was ladened with the steamed carcasses of peacocks placed in front of each guest. The feathered pelts draped over the cooked poultry kept the meat warm and moist, and the positioning of the intact heads, artfully curved necks, and magnificently fanned tailfeathers gave the curious impression of the birds gladly sacrificing themselves for the culinary pleasures of their devourers.  
  
Zartan and Zaranna had scowled when Zanya did not return from the kitchen, but many others felt nothing but relief. The girl had handled the food with ill grace. Lilian, on the other hand, had attended to everyone's needs with extreme servitude and the ingrained manners of one raised in Old English Gentry. Dirty napkins were whisked away to be replaced by clean ones, the salt and pepper moved from their traditional place denoting the head of the table to a guest and back again. Under Stormshadow's watchful eye, Lilian scuttled from guest to guest with a razor sharp knife and serving fork in hand, gingerly peeling back the loose iridescent pelts just enough to carve delicate slices of soft white meat and place them onto the translucent china plates. She even cut Hawk's meat into bite sized pieces so he could eat one-handed. The crystal champagne flutes were kept filled, the candlelight soft and warm, and there was even the soft strains of a string quartet filling the Hall originating from a multiple CD player cleverly disguised as an elegant gramophone.  
  
It was all very civilized.  
  
Almost.  
  
Flying chunks of food spewed from under the Commander's hood, laughter surprising the head snake right in mid-chew. "You THREW the fool from the helicopter onto Lady Jaye," he choked out. He paused to take a gulp of champagne. "Magnificent! And did they survive the fall? Or can we toast the demise of another Joe?"  
  
Zaranna sighed dramatically. "Such a shame. Last I 'eard, 'er Ladyship managed to drag 'er soggy self outta th'river." Then she brightened. "'Course, I also 'eard that th'NEW GI Joe Commander wanted t'talk t'er real bad. Preferably in th'stockade."  
  
"But, darling," the Baroness cooed sweetly, "would that not give Lady Jaye a chance to exonerate not only herself, but our dear Mr.Abernathy?"  
  
Zaranna settled back in her chair and speared a slice of the moist poultry with her fork. "I suppose," she smirked. Not bothering with a knife, she tore a chunk off with her teeth. "Won't it be such a shame," she mumbled happily, "when her broken heart makes 'er take 'er own life?"  
  
Hearty laughter rolled around the table, anticipating another stunning blow to an enemy that had dogged them for so long. Even the Baroness clapped, if somewhat mockingly.  
  
But Destro's lip curled slightly. "How pat this is! And will you be the one assisting Lady Jaye in this extreme display of melodrama?"  
  
Zaranna waved her fork at him. "Didn't get paid t'. Gotta admit, I woulda loved t'do that snotty bitch for free..." She shrugged. "But with SHIELD a mite upset with me, I thought I'd better take a vacation after this li'l party. Besides." She winked at her brother. "Can't be greedy and hog all th'fun, now can I?"  
  
"The Greenshirt."  
  
The merry sounds ebbed away in surprise, leaving only the music of the viola solo to be heard.  
  
All heads turned towards the foot of the table.  
  
Hawk had placed his fork tines down onto his plate, his back ramrod straight. He regarded them all with dark, expressionless eyes. "The Greenshirt," he repeated. "The one that was with Lady Jaye when she fell into the river. What happened to him."  
  
The High Command just stared back at him in puzzled silence.  
  
"So," the Commander said finally, tossing a cracked bone sucked clean of marrow onto the table. "He speaks words other than 'pass the salt and pepper.' At last. I was beginning to think you had fallen victim to a stroke." He propped his elbows on the table. "You've consumed more salt than food, Mr.Abernathy. That can't be good for your blood pressure."  
  
"I'm touched by your concern for my health," Hawk said toothily.  
  
"And I am touched by your concern for a mere Greenshirt," the Commander said silkily.  
  
"I'm his Commanding Officer---"  
  
"You WERE his Commanding Officer."  
  
Hawk clenched his teeth. "He's one of my own!"  
  
"Yessss," the Commander hissed in odd satisfaction. "Yours. I am pleased that you value the concept of possession. No matter what others claim, you know exactly what---or WHO---is rightfully yours." He leaned forward. "And you place a marvelously high value on them. Oh, yes! Most excellent."  
  
Hawk glared back at him, wary, waiting.  
  
Cobra Commander wiped a sleeve under the lower part of his hood, belching loudly. "You wish to know the fate of your precious Greenshirt," he asked, throwing the shimmering pelt from his peacock and tearing the remaining drumstick off. "Very well. I will let Zaranna tell you. IF!" He waggled the haunch at Hawk. "IF you answer one question."  
  
Hawk's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
  
"You have been in contact with my prodigal son, William. Tut, tut, don't deny it! I know it to be true. What I don't know...what I would like to know, Mr.Abernathy is how my son fares?"  
  
The West Pointer said nothing, schooling his face into a mask.  
  
"Come, come, Mr.Abernathy, it's such a simple question," the Commander said, tapping the drumstick in one palm. "As a father, I have the right to know."  
  
"'The right,'" Hawk echoed tonelessly. His eyes slid to the side of the Commander. "What do you think, Thomas? After all the abuses he's put the boy through, does this man have 'the right' to know about his son?"  
  
"Thomas?" The Commander looked around the table. "Mr.Abernathy, who are you talking to?"  
  
Hawk pressed on, ignoring the Cobra Leader. "Why don't you have a seat while you think about it, Thomas? Have some dinner? There's more than plenty to go around---"  
  
"Mr.Abernathy, are you talking to Stormshadow," the Commander asked incredulously. "You must know that he will not answer you."  
  
Hawk slammed his fist on the table, causing the china and stemware to jump. "And why is that, Commander," he seethed. "Tell me, why is Thomas Arashikage at your beck and call? Is he a mercenary? No. Is it because you hold the key to avenging his uncles and clan? Not anymore. Or is it because he truly believes in the Cobra cause?"  
  
"Why, yesss," the Commander hissed contentedly.  
  
"NO, AND YOU KNOW IT," Hawk thundered, throwing his napkin onto the table and awkwardly rising to his shackled feet. He jabbed a finger at the white clad ninja. "HE'S here, oh so devoted to you, for the same reason as Lilian!"  
  
"They're here because they are mine," the Commander growled, the mad eyes starting to flame. "Stormshadow has always been mine."  
  
Hawk grinned fiercely. "Oh, how quickly we've forgotten," he said. "There was a time when Thomas was one of mine, a Joe. And of his own free will." His face darkened. "Then you took him from us the only way you could. YOU'VE BROKEN HIS MIND!"  
  
The Commander shot to his feet. "I took back what was mine," he hissed. "As I will take back my son!"  
  
"And turn him into a mindless slave?"  
  
"A properly devoted child!"  
  
"Over my dead body!"  
  
The bright ring of a drawn sword cut right through the angry voices.  
  
"That," the Commander stated, "can be arranged. Stormshadow---"  
  
"Yes, StormSHADOW," Hawk said bitterly. "I can see it from here, Thomas. You're just a shadow of what you were, even more so than a few months ago. He's broken you even more, hasn't he? Dammit---"  
  
"He had to be punished," the Commander said, suddenly strangely calm. "He would have succeeded in assassinating you if he had just avoided Snake- Eyes. But no. He and his precious honor insisted on confronting him, and your Joes very nearly succeeded in retaking him this time. The closest you've ever come so far." He huffed as he sat back down. "I was badly cheated that day. You lived. Though Stormshadow returned and is now much more pliant...you are correct, Mr.Abernathy. He is indeed a mere shadow of his former self." The mad eyes flicked to the ninja, still and deadly as the beat before an avalanche. He flicked a hand and the ninja immediately resheathed his sword. "Make no mistake, he still has his uses. But he now lacks a certain...something. Initiative." His eyes swept the table. "They all do. Except for Zaranna, it seems," he amended airily. "But we shall see how long that lasts." Ignoring the affronted expressions rippling through his High Command, Cobra Commander regarded Hawk for a long, silent moment. "Let us try our little game again, Mr.Abernathy. Answer for question, tit for tat." He leaned forward, tapping the drumstick against his chin. "How is Billy?"  
  
Hawk's eyes narrowed. Slowly, he sat, slid his napkin back onto his lap, retrieved his fork, and speared a bite-sized cut of the moist poultry. "Pass the salt and pepper," he said brusquely.  
  
Cobra Commander rolled his eyes. "Of course," he sighed, motioning for Lilian to once again take the shakers. "I suppose I should not have expected you to reveal even that much so soon." He sighed as he leaned his chin thoughtfully against the drumstick. "Such as small and insignificant question to have produced such a staunch and angry tirade! But then again, the rewards for answering was disproportionately minute. In truth, I cannot blame you for not answering."  
  
Hawk gritted his teeth and violently shook the peppershaker until his whole plate was covered in a fine layer of black.  
  
"You season your main course with such a heavy hand, Mr.Abernathy! Is it not to your liking? Perhaps you would, in truth, prefer something else?" The mad eyes looked at Hawk slyly. "Something in the way of red meat, perhaps? Steak tartar?"  
  
Hawk slammed the shaker down and quickly scooped up his napkin, holding it to his watering mouth. His skin flamed as he glared at the Commander with eyes that burned with...embarrassment? Resentment? Anger?  
  
No. Nothing so easy to name.  
  
Nothing...civilized.  
  
Destro lifted his crystal flute close to his lips. "Commander," he whispered discreetly, "whatever it is you hope to accomplish with him, I strongly suggest you cease this baiting. A man can only endure so much before---"  
  
"Nonsense, Destro," the Commander boomed loudly. "I have been neglectful as a host not to realize my guest's nutritional needs. You have lost much blood, Mr.Abernathy, have you not? You must be desperately craving iron. How thoughtless of me to have provided you with poultry instead of beef---"  
  
"Bull," Hawk snapped. "You knew damned well what you were doing. Don't think I haven't noticed. White meat but no red. No water but lots of wine."  
  
"An excellent vintage which you have not partaken of," the Commander commented. "I am surprised. After all that salt you have consumed you must be terribly thirsty."  
  
"Not thirsty enough to addle my brains," Hawk retorted. "This whole meal was designed to soften me up."  
  
"I did not see you turning your nose up at it," the Commander hissed softly, gesturing to the skeletal remains of Hawk's main course.  
  
"You captured me. You're responsible for feeding me," Hawk stated bluntly. "A good solider eats when he can. Sleeps when he can." His eyes narrowed. "And fights however and whenever he can."  
  
"Practical, very practical," the Commander nodded. "I approve." He tossed his peacock leg onto his plate and leaned back into his chair. "Very well. As you are a practical man, I shall no longer dance around the subject but come straight to the point."  
  
"HA," Hawk barked. He started to bring the fork to his mouth, but quickly set it down again as Lilian stooped over to collect the shakers. "I'm not done with them yet."  
  
"Leave them for him, Lilian," the Commander said impatiently. "I want no interruptions now."  
  
Lilian hesitated. For the first time since Hawk had arrived, lightning flickers of conflicting emotions played over her face.  
  
The Crimson Twins stirred now, interest plain on their mirrored features.  
  
"Commander," Destro whispered. "That would not be---"  
  
"I said," the Cobra Leader growled through clenched teeth, "that I want no interruptions now. From any of you!"  
  
Zartan's eyes flicked uneasily towards Hawk. "But---"  
  
"I said SILENCE," the Commander thundered.  
  
Zartan looked at his sister and they shrugged.  
  
The twins watched on with condescending amusement.  
  
Bludd and Mindbender, after an unsettled moment, continued to eat.  
  
The chained man adjusted the shakers in front of him, then motioned Lilian away with a gesture and a nod. At this firm signal her faced smoothed. She bobbed a curtsey and scuttled away, tending to the guests' other needs. Hawk returned to his meal.  
  
But curving ever so slightly, a tight smile graced the Joe's lips.  
  
Destro and the Baroness lifted their crystal flutes and exchanged their own covert looks with each other over the rims.  
  
This was going to be amusing.  
  
"Much better," the Commander huffed, unaware of the currents that had flowed beneath his eyes. "Do you see what I have to put up with, Mr.Abernathy? As I said before, I am surrounded by people who lack initiative. What little they do have they accordingly put to minor use." He drummed his fingers against the table. "I find myself in a quandary over what to do about that. The Brainwave Scanner is occasionally helpful, but it tends to dull one's wits." He placed one hand over his chest and bowed his head, shaking it sadly. "So what IS a man in my situation to do, you ask?"  
  
"Surrender," Hawk said promptly.  
  
A hard glint shone in the Commander's eyes before a forced chuckle rolled from the hood. "Humor, Mr.Abernathy?"  
  
Hawk smiled widely. "It's what keeps me going right now."  
  
The Crimson Twins coughed into their napkins.  
  
"Droll, Mr.Abernathy, very droll. I must remember to fit you for a jester's motley, should things become unfortunate between us."  
  
"'BECOME unfortunate?'" Hawk gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Things have always been 'unfortunate' between us!"  
  
"Alas, this is true. But!" The Commander leaned forward, his voice earnest. "It doesn't have to stay that way."  
  
Hawk snorted. "Here it comes." He speared another bite. "Will this be the traditional bribe of ten silver pieces?"  
  
"Oh, do not think of this as a bribe, Mr.Abernathy," the Commander tsked. "Think of this as a glorious new employment opportunity! And as for ten pieces of silver..." He settled back, steepling his fingers. "...finding a man's price IS the most effective means of securing loyal competence."  
  
"Not everyone can be bought."  
  
The Commander waved his hand in dismissal. "Noble sentiments, Mr.Abernathy, but untrue. Everyone has a price, something they desire so much that they're willing to sacrifice anything to obtain. Sometimes, yes, it is money. Sometimes it is vengeance." His eyes slid to Destro. "Even honor, apparently, has a price tag. But honor is so abstract, ephemeral. I prefer dealing with the tangibles."  
  
Now Hawk's eyes slid to where Destro sat. "Such allowing a girl to be raped for an overly ambitious son's life," he asked. He snorted again. "There is no honor in that price tag."  
  
The crystal flute in Destro's hand shattered as the masked face swiveled sharply towards Hawk, thunder growing in both men's faces.  
  
The Baroness clamped a hand over Destro's arm and squeezed it warningly.  
  
The Commander cocked his head. "You do realize, Mr.Abernathy, that you're championing a young lady who led an army right up to the White House lawn?"  
  
"Then kill her," Hawk said shortly. "Or lock her up." He looked to where Lilian was busily cleaning Destro's mess then glared back at the Scottish laird. "There's no honor in allowing her to be like this."  
  
"There! You see," the Commander said, loudly thumping the table with the flat of his hand. "One man's honor is another man's disdain. Therefore 'honor' is not something I trust as hard currency. But possessions...ahhhh." He jabbed a finger at Hawk. "That is tangible. THAT is hard currency. Silver, technology, information...the sparing of a son's life." He curled his hand into a fist. "When you have the ability to grant such things, then you have POWER." He struck the table. "Possession is POWER, Mr.Abernathy. *I* am power!"  
  
"Mmm hmph. Well, that's nice," Hawk said, lifting his fork to his mouth, his earlier outrage now gone. "I'm happy for you."  
  
Eyes around the table widened in horror at his patronizing tone.  
  
Amazingly, the Commander laughed. "You don't think I can sway you from your misguided loyalty to your country, do you?"  
  
Hawk swallowed his bite, smiled pleasantly and said, "Nope."  
  
"Admiral George Lattimer didn't believe I could sway him either," the Commander said silkily.  
  
The smile soured into a hard bitter line. "Yes, you swayed him. Everything Admiral Lattimer had believed in, everything he had fought for was thrown away for the sake of the USS Montana, to spare her from the scrap heap. She was his home, his honor. But where is she now?" He angrily speared another cut of meat. "Rusting at the bottom of the Atlantic!"  
  
"But you are not like Admiral Lattimer, are you," the Commander mused as Hawk chewed on his food. "No. You place little personal value in vehicles, in a home, in THINGS. Not to the extent your old friend did. Oh, no." Cobra Commander leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "But you do place a marvelously high value on the PEOPLE in your life."  
  
Shock and fear hit Hawk with the force of a punch. The soft food he had been swallowing went down like lead.  
  
"Yesss," the Commander hissed. "I see I have regained your attention."  
  
Hawk set his fork down on his plate tines up pointing to the twelve o'clock position, a silent signal for Lilian to start clearing the table. He wiped his lips with the corner of his napkin then rested his one free wrist on the edge of the table.  
  
He waited.  
  
The Commander complied. "The Joes will rally to your side no matter what flag you wave---"  
  
A harsh bark of laughter sounded from Hawk's relieved throat. "If Hell freezes over and I should EVER wave YOUR flag, the Joes wouldn't rally to my side. They'd tear me to shreds!"  
  
Cobra Commander nodded, as if expecting that answer, and moved on without missing a beat. "I'm sure the loss of Duke must have been somewhat of a personal blow to you. You are aware, are you not, of our advances in cloning---"  
  
Hawk snorted, becoming more relaxed. "You could never clone Duke!" He tapped the spot over his heart. "Not really."  
  
Cobra Commander rested his chin in his hands. "Can't we," he asked innocently.  
  
Uncertainty tugged at Hawk. He glanced at Mindbender, who looked far too smug. "Oooookay," Hawk said cautiously. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, that you can. So what? Duke certainly wouldn't thank me for bringing him back on your dime. He'd rip me to pieces too." Hawk cocked his head, a smirk hovering over his lips. "Will all of these so-called bribes involve me being torn to pieces by the bribe?"  
  
"That depends," the Commander said complacently.  
  
Hawk rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'll bite. Depends on what?"  
  
Despite the hood, Hawk got the distinct impression that the Commander was smirking as well. "That depends on how strong your wife was, Mr.Abernathy."  
  
Hawk inhaled sharply, his chest suddenly feeling too tight. "...what...?"  
  
"She can live again," Cobra Commander said softly. "If you let her."  
  
What little blood Hawk had left thundered in his ears, deafening him.  
  
...Hueah, his Hueah...  
  
"---hear me, Mr.Abernathy," he distantly heard Cobra Commander shout. "I said, did you hear me?"  
  
Hawk didn't answer, couldn't answer. He was locked in his mind's eye, seeing her for the first time again, feeling the shock of that captivating blush bloom across her golden skin as she looked at him. A rush of sensations hit him as he relived her again.  
  
Their first touch.  
  
First kiss.  
  
First fight.  
  
Their first night.  
  
...  
  
His last sight.  
  
A bubble welled up in his chest, a nameless feeling that sapped him of strength.  
  
"Can't," he heard himself whisper helplessly.  
  
"But we can, Mr.Abernathy. Zaranna knows where your wife is buried," the Commander told him. "We will simply retrieve her remains and restore her."  
  
Hawk didn't realize he had closed his eyes until they flew open. "'Zaranna knows where...?'"  
  
The Commander nodded. "Apparently SHIELD had kept very extensive records on her. She lies in Vietnam still, does she not?"  
  
The bubble of emotion swelled and burst, shaking him hard. He buried his face in his napkin, trying to swallow the sounds hitching from his throat.  
  
Cobra Commander placed the flat of his hands on the table and leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "She can be yours again. Breathing. Loving. Alive. All you need to do is fight for me. Reclaim her, Mr.Abernathy. Reclaim her and fight for your new Commander!"  
  
Nothing happened for a long moment. The only movements came from the bustling Lilian clearing the table, the only sounds the odd choking noises coming from Hawk mingling with the mournful strings of the cello and violin.  
  
All else was silent and still.  
  
At length the Commander finally drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Mr.Abernathy? Your answer?"  
  
The napkin slipped from Hawk's fingers. No longer absorbed by the cloth, tears streamed freely down his cheeks and the sounds he made were now clear over the stringed music.  
  
Hawk...was laughing.  
  
Not the deep rolling chuckles they had heard earlier or the snorts of scorn. They were small sounds at first, discordant breaks in the classical sweep of music. He tried to regain his composure, slowly rose to his shackled feet to speak, but the laughter overtook him again even stronger than before. He doubled over, locked in the sharpened grip of full blown hysteria, clinging to the edge of the table as if clinging to the last shreds of his sanity.  
  
Utterly composed, Destro sipped his champagne as the High Command drew back, their low murmur of voices speaking quickly in alarm. "It would seem, Commander, that you have already broken your new toy."  
  
"Yes," the Commander hissed darkly. "So it would appear."  
  
Hawk waved his hand vigorously. "No," he managed to gasp. "No, no." He took a deep shuddering breath, straightened, and squared his still quivering shoulders. His teeth flashed in a broad, genuine smile. "I'm fine. More than fine. In fact..." His fingers delicately cradled the bowl of his crystal flute and raised it straight-armed, shoulder high. "...I would like to propose a toast."  
  
Cobra Commander blinked. "Well...that is...that is excellent. Yes!" He thumped the table. "Most excellent!" He snatched up his flute and jumped to his feet. The High Command belated followed suit. "And what shall we toast to...General?"  
  
Hawk gave a small nod. "To you, Commander. And to Cobra."  
  
"To Cobra," the Commander echoed.  
  
"COBRA!"  
  
"To Cobra." Hawk raised his crystal higher. "May you always receive false information, fail in every endeavor you do, and burn in the sulfur brines of the Devil's own piss!"  
  
Jaws dropped.  
  
"In other words, Cobra Commander---" Hawk hurled the goblet, smashing it against the wall. "---ROT IN HELL!"  
  
A feral hiss blasted from the Commander like a tornado roar. He threw his own crystal straight at Hawk. "You FOOL," he spat.  
  
Hawk ducked. Laughter bubbled up and he threw his head back, giving into the wild glee that sang in his blood. "YOU are the fool, Commander! All of you are!"  
  
Zaranna jumped to her feet. "What're you talking about," she hissed.  
  
Hawk turned his flashing eyes to her. "I'm talking about your overrated espionage skills! 'Zaranna knows where your wife is buried,'" Hawk mocked. "I'LL tell you where she's buried. In the high winds over America! THAT'S where she's buried!" The tears streamed down his face again as a harsh, cutting laugh tore from his throat. "Clone her? THERE'S NOTHING LEFT OF HER TO CLONE!"  
  
"You're lying," Zaranna snapped. "All th'SHIELD reports say she was buried in Vietnam!"  
  
"WAS buried," Hawk shot back, not bothering to wipe away the flow of tears. "When my friends told me that my wife had been killed I dug her up, grabbed a blow torch and cremated her myself! When I got home I committed her ashes to the sky!" Hawk's grin widened maniacally. "Vietnam may have given birth to her, but she was MY WIFE! I wasn't going to let it keep any part of her! In fact I scorched the earth until I ran out of napalm, just to make sure there'd be nothing left of her in its soil! I almost got a psychological discharge because of that little stunt. Obviously I didn't get the boot, but it still caused a lot of talk and piled up a lot of paper. But I'll bet you didn't see a scrap of any of it, did you, Zaranna? DID YOU?"  
  
Cobra Commander swung burning mad eyes on the cringing pink-haired Dreadnok. "Zaranna," he growled.  
  
She shook her head, slowly. "No. NO! Th'SHIELD reports---"  
  
Zartan stood abruptly and hauled her up by the shirtfront. "You've been HAD, dear sister! Set up!" He shook her hard. "SHIELD WAS ONTO YOU FROM THE START!"  
  
Destro turned to Cobra Commander. "This makes everything Zaranna collected from them now suspect. Commander, we must determine how badly this effects us."  
  
Cobra Commander speared the Dreadnok leaders with one last glare before sitting. "Yesssss. Exactly what I was about to say. Lilian, we have work to do! Forget the next course---"  
  
"Yes, Lilian, forget the next course." Hawk smiled as he sat down. "Just serve the dessert now, if you would. I suddenly feel like having a treat."  
  
"Impudence," Cobra Commander hissed. "Lilian, there will be no dessert! Just leave!"  
  
Lilian hesitated, her face contorting again in confusion.  
  
"Oh," Hawk added. "And turn the music off on your way out please."  
  
"Leave the music on," the Commander shouted. "And I SAID no dessert!"  
  
Hawk held up the salt shaker. "Lilian? Dessert?"  
  
Lilian's eyes focused on the shaker. Her face cleared and she bobbed a curtsey to Hawk. "Yes, Mr.Abernathy."  
  
"Its General Tomahawk, Lilian."  
  
"YOUR NAME IS MR.ABERNATHY, AND FOR THE LAST TIME, THERE WILL BE NO DESSERT," the Commander screeched. "AND LEAVE THE MUSIC ON! IT'S SOOTHING!"  
  
Lilian curtsied again. "Yes, General Tomahawk. I'm sorry, General Tomahawk. Dessert will be out shortly, General Tomahawk." She bobbed again, turned off the CD, and disappeared through the kitchen door.  
  
The silence was deafening.  
  
Hawk set the salt shaker down by the pepper shaker in front of him, the small but powerful twin symbols of ancient European tradition denoting the master of the table. "Well what do you know," he mused out loud. "That actually worked."  
  
"You," the Commander growled, his eyes blazing at Hawk.  
  
"Mmm, yes. Me. I told you, Commander. A solider fights however he can and whenever he can." Hawk shrugged his good shoulder. "Hijacking dessert is petty, I know, but if it pisses you off, I'll take what I can get."  
  
Cobra Commander's fists came down on the table. "And just HOW," he asked through clenched teeth, "did you 'hijack' dessert?"  
  
Hawk settled back into his chair. "Oh, I'm just a---now let's see, what is it that the Jugglers call me behind my back? Ah, yes---a jumped up mountain cowboy. Simpler in mind and manners than a used car salesman. I'll just confuse you." He smiled slyly. "But I'm sure your High Command could detail my tactics to you better than I can. After all, they watched my maneuverings from the very start."  
  
The High Command could practically hear the snap as the Tomahawk's trap closed about them.  
  
Hawk was right. It was only a small amount of control he had swiped from the Commander. A truly petty thing. Not even worthy of notice.  
  
But Hawk had humiliated the Commander at his own table.  
  
And now they would all pay for that.  
  
Severely.  
  
"How dare you," the Commander hissed. "How DARE you all disrespect me so! I AM YOUR LEADER!! AND YOU!!" Cobra Commander kicked his way down the High Command. "YOU!!" In a burst of manic strength he overturned the table and strode right up to Hawk. "I OFFERED YOU A PLACE BY MY SIDE," he screamed, clamping a hand hard on Hawk's wounded shoulder and choked him with the other. "NOW I WILL GRIND YOU BENEATH MY HEEL AND MAKE YOU SUFFER!!!"  
  
Hawk twisted under the Commander's crazed grip, his one free hand struggling to break the hold crushing the wind from him. But the blood loss, the agonizing pain of the hand digging into his wound, and now the desperate need for oxygen sapped the last of his strength. His vision swam with shadows haloed in red, and the blood once again roared in his ears, deafening him to the graphic profanities that the Commander threatened him with.  
  
If Hawk survived his wrath.  
  
With the Cobra literally at his throat, Hawk wasn't sure if he would this time.  
  
He could almost see Hueah in the growing darkness, could almost smell her cookies as she waited for him.  
  
But it wasn't her voice that cried his name, skirling through the roar of blood like battle pipes through a Highland fog.  
  
It was Lady Jaye's.  
  
Suddenly the pressure at his throat eased. Hawk inhaled great gulps of air, the roaring in his ears giving way to the sound of breaking crystal and cries of pain. He ignored it, concentrated on breathing again, filling his lungs with sweet oxygen.  
  
But the scent of Hueah's cookies still lingered strong in the air.  
  
He shook his head sharply. Why did he still smell---?  
  
"Well, well, well," Cobra Commander said sardonically, moving his hand to cup Hawk's chin. "If it isn't the Tomahawk's valiant 'knight' to the rescue."  
  
Hawk's eyes snapped open.  
  
Like flashcard pictures Hawk saw a bent old woman surrounded by shattered crystal bowls, lemon sherbet, cookies, and the fallen bodies of several Crimson Guards. The High Command at some point earlier had moved closer to Hawk, and they reacted slowly, still in the midst of turning to see what the commotion was on the far side of the room.  
  
Except one blur of white moving fast.  
  
The old woman---she had to be Lady Jaye---raised a heavily dented silver tray like a shield and rammed into another Guardsman, using him as a flesh and blood shield to block the new threat approaching her.  
  
Stormshadow.  
  
Jaye didn't stand a chance against him.  
  
Her green eyes flashed grimly as her hand wrapped around the Guardsman's sidearm.  
  
She was going to try anyways.  
  
The brainwashed ninja drew his sword, preparing to pounce the Jay Bird that broke her cover too early.  
  
All to save Hawk from the Cobra's mad choke hold.  
  
"Pathetic," the Commander scoffed. "Did your whore die as uselessly?"  
  
Rage exploded through Hawk's veins, filling him with a fiery strength that lifted him to his feet.  
  
That was the last straw.  
  
"THOMAS," Hawk roared.  
  
Stormshadow didn't turn.  
  
But the Commander did.  
  
Hawk lunged.  
  
His teeth crunched through flesh, through cartilage. Blood hit his mouth, scalding and sweet, like the filling of a freshly baked pastry. Dimly he registered movements coming towards him, heard shouting, heard a high keening wail that should have pierced every brain with it's agony.  
  
"GETOFFGETOFFGETOFF," the Commander shrieked, blindly striking out.  
  
He felt hands grip him by the shoulders, trying to pull him away from the man he clung to tooth and talon.  
  
Before Hawk even realized what he was doing he shoved the Commander back hard and threw his head sharply to one side, ripping the Commander's silk covered nose clean off his face in an explosion of red mist.  
  
Everyone, even Jaye and Stormshadow froze in horror as the Hawk tossed back his head, opened up his throat...and the Cobra's nose disappeared down his gullet in a slither of blue silk.  
  
The Hawk licked his blood-smeared lips.  
  
The Cobra shrieked.  
  
And all hell broke loose. 


	20. Block and Jesses

*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*Sorry for the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay long delay! Moved to another State and got a wicked case of writer's block! Thanks out to my brother for helping me get over it^_^ I promise I haven't abandoned Hawk. There's more to come after the New Year, so I hope this will tide everyone over. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

*Cach---Gaelic for "shit" 

____________________________________________________________________

Hawk's elbow shot back, slamming right into the nose of one of his two would-be restrainers. Zaranna fell head-first to the floor as Hawk's fist whipped across to crash into Zartan's jaw. The biker gang leader flew back, trailing blood and teeth through the air. 

Stormshadow snapped out of his shock and raced back down the hall. 

__

"Cach," Jaye gasped. She shoved the unconscious Guardsman from her, pulling the man's Luger free from its holster at the same time Major Bludd blocked a backfist from Hawk. Bludd shoved his pistol in the shackled man's face.

"Bloody Joe General," the Australian cried, forcing his Glock's muzzle between Hawk's scarlet-coated teeth. "Wanna flippin' chew on somethin' nasty do ya? Let's see ya chew this!"

Lady Jaye fired.

The bullet drilled through Bludd's back in a spurt of crimson, sending him crashing into Hawk, dropping them both into the chair as Jaye pumped several more shots into the Twins and Mindbender.

Destro immediately ducked, pushing the Baroness down atop of the still screaming Commander. He threw himself on top of them, shielding them both with his own body. 

Cobra Commander's cries reached glass shattering pitches as a bullet struck the ground next to his head, spraying his mangled face with stone chips. 

The ninja leapt between the Commander and Jaye, his empty almond eyes fixed on her.

__

"Cach," Jaye spat again. "Don't make me, Tommy..." 

Stormshadow ran for her.

She sighted down her gun, finger steady on the trigger. 

"THOMAS," Hawk roared.

Stormshadow spun...and froze.

Jaye's eyes looked past the ninja to see Bludd still slumped over Hawk, but his Glock had made it's way into the General's hand...and was pointed right at the pile of people the Cobra Commander was under.

"Put the sword down, Thomas, and get on the floor," Hawk ordered.

Stormshadow hesitated.

"---will not---die like this," the Commander gurgled, struggling weakly as the Baroness distastefully tried to stem the bleeding.

"Cease your panicking, Commander, and use your mouth to breathe," Destro told him. "The General is bluffing. My armor will protect---"

Hawk fired.

Cobra Commander screamed louder as the shot sprayed more chips of stone into their faces.

"Jaye just proved she's packing armor-piercing bullets," Hawk snapped, getting to his feet and kneeing Bludd's lifeless body from him. It hit the floor next to the moaning Twins and Mindbender with a thud. "Want to gamble and see if I am too?"

Destro scowled fiercely and the Baroness grimaced as the tattered and bloodied masked head moved under her hands. One word pushed past the dripping blood, like the sound of a fang dragged over slate. "...no..."

Stormshadow plunged the tip of his sword into the stone floor, put his hands behind his head and sank to his knees.

A puff of relief escaped Jaye's lips. "Hawk---"

The kitchen door burst open. Jaye turned and fired, catching the first Kitchen Viper right in the chest. He fell back through the door, raising cries of outrage and confusion. She sprinted for Hawk, one hand catching the sword by the hilt. 

Before she could pull it free, Stormshadow's hand suddenly shot out and clamped down over hers, stopping her momentum and bringing her skidding to her knees and elbow. 

Gasping and barely holding onto her pistol, she looked up, her wide emerald eyes locking onto his empty almond ones.

"THOMAS," Hawk roared again. "Hurt her and I've got nothing to lose by killing them!"

Stormshadow's fingers tightened over Jaye's.

The Commander's rapidly wheezing breath increased. 

Jaye's knuckles turned white as she clenched the grip of the Luger. "If you're going to kill me, Tommy," she said in a low, clear voice, "you'd better do it now." 

Something flickered deep within his eyes. 

The kitchen doors burst open again. The Kitchen Vipers stormed into the room en mass, followed closely by an armed Zanya. Young beryl green eyes widened at the sight of the 'old lady' locked in an impasse with the Cobra bodyguard. "What the---"

"GUNS DOWN," Hawk commanded. "All of you, safeties on, toss the rifles, and kiss the floor!" At their hesitation, Hawk pulled the hammer back sharply. "DO IT! Or I take out the rest of your High Command!"

As the Vipers reluctantly obeyed, Zanya's eyes swept the room before fastening onto an unconscious figure not too far from Hawk's chair. "DAD!" Grief and rage flared in her eyes, twisting her face horrifically as she raised her rifle. "You BASTARD!"

"I said on the ground," Hawk roared.

"Like I care what happens to fang-face and friends," Zanya shouted. "You hurt my Dad!" 

"Now or never, Tommy," Jaye hissed. Without even waiting for a response she whipped her pistol around. "Put your rifle down, Zanya," she snapped. "Do it or I'LL be the one hurting your Dad!"

"Stupid bitch," Zanya spat. "Stormshadow'll---"

With a suddenness that startled everyone, Jaye coolly fired a warning shot over Zartan's prone body.

They all waited.

But Stormshadow remained still and silent.

"Don't just sit there, you damned Power Ranger," Zanya screamed. "DO something!"

"Stormshadow's been programmed to never endanger his master," Hawk said, his voice harsh with a mixture of bitterness and relief. "He's got no reason to save your father's ass." He gave her a look that was almost pitying. "Put it down, Zanya. I don't want another orphan on my conscious."

"Friggin' hell," Zanya spat. She switched on the safety and threw the rifle to the floor. "You really don't think you're just walking out of here?"

"Watch us," Hawk told her. "Now on the floor."

Cursing a mile a minute, Zanya grudgingly obeyed.

But Hawk couldn't relax yet. "Let her go, Thomas." 

Slowly, Stormshadow withdrew his hand.

Jaye pulled the sword free, but instead of running she hesitated. "Tommy," she began, searching his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of that flicker she had seen...

...but there was nothing there anymore.

"Snake-Eyes and your cousin Jinx are waiting for you," she told the empty-eyed ninja in a low voice. 

He just stared back blankly.

"GI JOE," Hawk snapped. 

Jaye gave Stormshadow one last look before bolting. She hurdled the pool of blood growing around the Commander, struck the rousing Tomax---or Xamot, or whichever the hell one of the twins it was---with the flat of the blade to his head and finally, at long last, reached Hawk.

"What kept you," Hawk barked, still keeping aim. 

"Nice to see you too, sir," she panted though her teeth. 

"Don't be a smart-ass! Get these damned chains off me and get us the hell out of here!" 

"Just hold still, sir." Still keeping her pistol trained on Zartan, she used her free right hand to stab Stormshadow's sword through the first of the thick gilded chains. With a twist of the blade, the link snapped free. She stabbed the second chain.

"Hurry it up," Hawk hissed.

"Almost got it," she told him, slicing through the third chain and twisting. "One more..."

Something bright pink moved on the periphery of Jaye's vision. "DOWN," she screamed, tackling Hawk to the ground. The sword skittered across the ground as pistol fire whizzed through the space they had been in. Bullets lodged into the heavy chair in a shower of splinters.

"Bloody Yank," Zaranna screamed from the ground. "Break me nose, will you?!" 

"KILL 'EM, ZARANNA," Zanya yelled as she and the Kitchen Vipers scrambled for their rifles. "They tried to kill Zartan!"

"Oh, there's hell t'pay now, luv," Zaranna snarled, getting shakily to her knees.

With a thunderous grinding, the stone wall nearest to the Joes began to slowly rise.

"Finally those imbeciles show up," the Baroness said waspishly. 

"Surrender, General," Destro called out. "If the Dreadnoks don't kill you and yours, the Vipers will!"

"'Surrender?'" Hawk scowled from the floor and held his Glock steady, aiming through the Scotsman right for the Commander's head. "Tell him my answer, GI Joe."

Jaye gripped her pistol tighter and smiled all too sweetly. "'Nuts.'"

And then the world exploded around Hawk's ears.

Fire and thunder slammed through the mural ceiling, showering the Hall with slabs of flaming masonry. Shards of crystal and globs of flaming wax flew from the chandelier as it shattered against the earth in a cacophony of bright chimes. The building shook violently as thunder continued to strike in increasing succession, filing the air with thick clouds of smoke and dust. 

Something hot like a bullet grazed the shackle at his ankle once, twice. Sparks bit at his bare feet, making his leg jerk.

The heaviness of the chain was gone.

He was free.

Almost.

Jaye pocketed her smoldering pistol and clamped a small but determined hand around his wrist as she slid from his back. She started to pull him over her shoulder in an all-too familiar modified fireman's carry but Hawk pulled back in a gesture for her to wait.

This time, Hawk was determined he would walk Borovia's soil on his own two feet.

Coughing painfully from the choked air, Hawk thrust the Glock into the tight wrappings of his sling, gritted his teeth against abused joints and burning wounds, and followed Jaye hand in hand through the twilit hell.


	21. Post Tenebras Spero Lucem

Post Tenebras Spero Lucem=(Latin creed of falconers) "After The Darkness, I Hope For The Light"

.

*VERY loose Gaelic glossary:

damnu air=damnit

annsachd = "beloved"

cac ar oineach="shit on honor"

ulaidh="darling" or "hidden treasure"

Chan eil mi a' tuigsinn="I don't understand"

Tha mi duilich="I'm sorry"

.

---The West Point Cadet Prayer can be read in its entirety at thanks for giving me an idea about Cheyenne Mountain. It's only a very small mention, sorry, but it fitted well when I needed it.

******************************************************************

.

.

.

.

.

Loudly, belatedly, Cobra's alarm klaxon screamed to life. Surviving Vipers ran through the clouds of smoke and dust in a mad rush to their posts, leaping over rubble and sprawling bodies alike, trying desperately to repel the enemy's surprise attack. No luck. The blitzkrieg had suddenly switched directions, becoming a two pronged attack strafing the turret guns and the main hanger. No one could get a bead on the small, agile vehicles invisible to radar, ghosting in and out of visual. No one could even tell how many of them there were.

But no one had to ask WHAT they were.

Cloaked hovercars.

That meant SHIELD.

.

*********************************

.

"WHAT?" Destro shook off the concerned Baroness' hand. He stomped his way through the hazy dark towards the flickering glow of the lighters held by the Dreadnok women, caring for the still unconscious Zartan. "YOU!" He grabbed the startled Zaranna by the throat and lifted her from her brother's side, hoisting her clean off the ground. The lighter fell from her hands as she tried to free herself. "THIS is what your foolish, greedy games have led us to, woman!"

"Kill that bitch, you lose the Dreadnoks," Zanya shouted from Zartan's other side, jumping to her feet. 

"And this concerns me how," Destro asked with a snarl, ignoring Zaranna's attempts to claw the metal gauntlet from her throat.

Zanya grinned. "Fang face needs us, chrome head. What's he gonna say if half of his allies in America ups and dumps his sorry ass?" 

Destro's lip curled into a sneer. He tossed Zaranna aside and turned on his heel. 

Zanya held her chin and light high as she crouched down, helping the raggedly coughing woman sit up straight. "So, DEAREST aunt---" The girl grabbed the older woman's broken nose and, with a heart-stopping gasp from Zaranna, yanked it hard, setting it straight. "---who's the mascot now?"

Cupping her nose and rocking in pain, Zaranna could only look at her niece with eyes filled with tears of agony...and darkest hate.

Ignoring the family drama of the Dreadnoks, Destro began rallying the Cobra forces. "You, there! Viper! Come here! Contact Communications. All Vipers are to use the secured frequency. I want all known channels used by SHIELD, NATO, the UN, and GI Joe jammed. They must not call for reinforcements! And tell our batteries to stop firing wildly! Have them plot the courses of the hovercars when they decloak and anticipate their next move accordingly." He clenched his metal fist. "Then blow them out of the sky."

The Viper bowed, snapping orders into his comm as he backed away. The Baroness limped up to Destro through the multiple beams of flashlights swinging about the twilight room. She placed a hand on his dented mask. "Darling, they're taking the Commander and the others to the infirmary. We should go with them---"

"You may go, my dear, but I have a battle to direct."

A worried crease marred her smooth brow. "James, it is not safe for you here---"

"As long as SHIELD is after the Joes' precious General, it is not safe for any of us anywhere! Viper," Destro roared. "I want patrols in every hall. The General and his would be rescuer can't have gotten very far. I want them brought to me, and I want them alive. SHIELD will not negotiate with us if the hostages are dead---"

A harsh, gurgling hiss cut through Destro's orders.

"The...Tomahawk...is mine." 

Slowly, all eyes turned to the man cradled face down in a make-shift stretcher of the crimson-stained table cloth. Cobra Commander lifted his maimed face, the glow of the flashlights struck his murderous eyes alight with a mad burn. A small shiver ran through the ranks as he spoke again. "The Tomahawk...belongs to me. He is MINE!"

"Cobra Commander," Destro began. "I must protest---"

"He's MINE," the Commander screeched through his blood. "I PAID for him! I OWN him. HE. IS. MINE."

"Commander, this is folly," Destro insisted hotly.

"Destro," the Commander hissed dangerously. "You WILL return what is rightfully mine to me..." He reached out and clutched Stormshadow's tunic. "...or I will have him take something of YOURS!"

.

*********************************

.

Thanks to the maps Father Drozd had dug up, finding the hidden door under all those garish murals had been easy. The thick smoke and dust had even made it easier. With her nose literally to the wall, Lady Jaye had actually seen where air currents had whispered out from minuscule cracks, disrupting the murky atmosphere. Even opening it had been easy. She just had to wait a moment for another set of building-shaking explosions before she could slam her heel onto the flagstone trigger while pushing against the door. If the ancient machinery had squealed, she couldn't hear it after the deafening blasts. And if she hadn't heard it at that range, she was pretty sure no one else did. 

She hoped.

Jaye didn't even have to worry about trying to blunder her way in the dark after she had closed the door. Over her mask, she had simply donned those night vision 'granny glasses' Fury had grudgingly loaned her and she could see as clearly as...well, a green twilight. And if she had thought that Cobra must have re-discovered the passageways by now, she was quickly disabused of that notion. Layers upon layers of aged cobwebs stretched undisturbed from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. She and Hawk were safe, for now.

But they weren't out of the woods yet. 

No, the hard part was up ahead, at the top of the ancient set of stairways they climbed, hand in hand. If anything went wrong...

She took a deep, calming breath before hailing the Captain on the comm. 

.

*********************************************

.

The hovercar shuddered as a barrage of shells tried to get a bead on the ghosting vehicle.

"Take those guns out NOW," Steve ordered.

"Yes, sir!" Low Light threw the hovercar into a steep dive, strafing the turret guns and dropping flares as a frantic Steve tried to re-establish contact with their lost bird.

"---birds---in---Warbirds come IN, _damnu air_---"

"That's our girl!" Steve boosted the volume and tried to overwhelm the cacophony of the anti-aircraft fire peppering the skies. "Eagle here! We lost your homing signal! Where the blazes are you?"

"We're---cover. I found one of---secret passage---"

"Jay Bird, your transmission's full of snow," Steve said loudly as his fingers flew over the keyboard, desperately trying to clean the channel.

"Walls must---thick," she spat. "---Hawk---"

"Wait! What about Hawk," Steve shouted.

"---only window I---find was---top of---get it clear and---here or---have to---! Climbing---"

Her voice disappeared under a mound of static.

"Jaye!" Steve tapped violently on the keyboard. "JAYE!"

The radio just crackled.

"Blast!" Steve yanked the headset off. "Wardog!"

More static.

"Snakes must be jamming us," Low Light said. "Try the hovercar's emergency channel, sir. It only works line of sight, but you might get through."

"Thanks." The hovercar shuddered from a too close miss. "And keep your eyes on the sky!" Steve fiddled with the comm once again. "C'mon, baby," he muttered under his breath. "Wardog, this is Eagle. Can you hear me? Wardog!"

"Here, sir," came the crisp reply over the speaker.

"Tell your partner to stop shooting the main structures," Steve ordered. "Our birds flew into a crack. We're being jammed, the transmission was staticky, so I don't know where they are."

"Understood," Duke growled. "Any clues?"

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "'Window'," he murmured. "I told her to throw Hawk out the nearest window...but they've blocked up their windows. The biggest one they've got left is barely big enough to shoot an arrow through." 

"So Jaye's improvising," Duke reasoned.

"Right." Steve punched up a digital map of the fort. "They were in the Great Hall...and now they're in one of the secret passageways...'top' and 'Climbing'..." He snapped his fingers and tapped at three structures, lighting them up. "Three adjoining towers to the Great Hall; the Chapel Tower to the south, the Keep Tower to the north, and the Warder's Tower to the West." He brought himself up short, a horrific thought suddenly crossing his mind. "You don't think she's going to really toss him off a tower, do you?" 

Duke snorted. "I'm hoping they both have enough sense to just wave us down."

"You 'hope,'" Steve asked incredulously.

"She's a smart girl," Duke told him. "Without communications, she'll know that literally tossing him out is a no-go now." He paused. "They might, however, try to grab their own ride," he admitted.

"Well," Steve coughed, "no matter what, they're going to have some problems. We missed a couple of guns. The Chapel Tower has a manned anti-aircraft gun protecting a Fang helipad at the top. Only one Fang there but," he tapped the image of the Keep Tower, "there's two anti-aircraft guns watching a sizable hanger full of Cobra gliders and pilots here. And the Warder's Tower is heavily guarded with troops..." He frowned. "...but there's nothing there except a frosted skylight dome, with a metal grate and a...lightning rod? Odd, there's a few more lightning rods poking around it..."

"So which tower is it," Duke demanded.

Steve shook himself from his musings. "No idea, son."

"Dammit all," Duke swore. "So what do we do, sir?"

Steve's scowl deepened with his silence. 

"Not that anyone's asked me," Fury's voice rasped, "but the girlie's lightly armed with no armor and towin' wounded. They ain't gonna get a chance ta just stand up and hail us with all those snakes slitherin' around. Not without a fight. All it'd take is one lucky shot fer the mission ta be a wash."

"But which tower," Duke pressed.

"Who cares. I'm reroutin' pilot controls ta ya, Doggy."

"What?!"

"RAVEN," Steve shouted. "What the blazes do you think you're doing?"

"C'mon, Eagle-Scout, pick yer tower and I'll pick mine. Between the hovercars and the two of us old codgers, we can give the kids a little more elbow room ta flag us down." A huff of laughter croaked through the speaker. "Or don't ya think we can take these idiots?"

"You're underestimating the enemy badly, Colonel," Duke snarled.

"Oooo," Fury mocked. "I'm shakin' in my eyepatch. C'mon, old solider! Ya know we can do this."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Why so eager to jump into the fray all of the sudden, Raven?"

"Ya kiddin'? This is the kinda stuff I was born ta jump inta!" Steve could almost see Fury's face split into a wide grin. "No hidden agendas, no damned politics, just a good ol'fashioned butt kickin'! Save the girl, rescue the POW, and crack some heads along the way! So are ya comin', Eagle? Or are ya turnin' chicken on me?"

Despite himself, a small grin tugged at Steve's lips. 

.

**************************************************

.

"And this isn't even the craziest thing you've ordered me to do," Jaye muttered, unwinding the filthy silk sling from Hawk's shoulder. 

"You're the one...who offered me this option," he reminded her, trying not to grunt in pain.

"I didn't think you'd actually take it!" She pressed her hand against her forehead and sighed. "The Captain is going to kill me."

"Only if I die," Hawk told her. "And I don't plan on doing that. I've got too much to do before I rest, remember?" 

Despite herself, Jaye smiled.

The last of the sling slipped from his shoulder. He turned and blindly held his Glock out to her. "Ready?"

She stuffed the silk lengths into her apron pocket, took the Glock and pushed her Luger into his hands. "As ready as I'll ever be, sir."

"Three in the clip, one in the chamber, right," Hawk asked, settling the German gun comfortably in his hand.

"Yes, sir. Eleven and one?"

"You got it."

"Sixteen bullets in all," Jaye murmured, patting the wall down for the secret door. 

"Make every shot count," Hawk reminded her. "Keep together. Don't stop for anything until we're in place."

"Understood." Her fingers paused as they felt a brush of cold mountain air chill them. "Found it." After a moment of brief tapping on the floor, one of the flagstones gave slightly. She led the General squarely before the door. "Ready, sir?"

He took a deep breath and shifted into a linebacker's stance. "Ready. Let's do it."

Jaye slammed her heel onto the loose flagstone and shoved the door as hard as she could, crashing the stone panel right into her first Viper. She kicked the door again, hearing things crunch behind it. 

"What th---"

Her night vision glasses easily picked out the Vipers among the gliders in the bright moonlit night. Two were right in front of her.

She fired and fired again.

Fourteen bullets.

"Go!"

"YO JOE!" 

And they ran.

Belated rifle-fire tore up the stone around them, occasionally striking Cobra friendlies, doing half of the Joes' work for them. But any cheering they felt died quickly as more Vipers took the fallens' places. 

Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine...

There were just too damned many of them.

"Heads down, Joe," Hawk called out from behind her. "I'm spent!"

Five.

Jaye really wished she had picked up a rifle.

Didn't matter. If they could just reach their objective...

And there they were.

Cobra anti-aircraft guns. The nice kind that could swivel 360degrees and, in the right hands, clear a tower top of Vipers.

Just as Jaye was beginning to believe they would make it, there came a cry from behind her. Her heart froze. Even before she turned, she knew what she'd see.

Glowing in the moonlight under a pile of dark Vipers was Hawk.

He'd been tackled to the ground.

"No," she screamed. She ran back and fired. "Get off of him, you bastards!" She fired again, almost point blank right into the visors of the Cobra troops.

Four. 

Three. 

Two.

One.

*Click*

"Jaye," Hawk screamed.

She fell back into a defensive stance. "I'm so sorry, Dash," she murmured.

The rest of the Vipers rushed her.

Like a shooting star, something flashed from the sky unbelievably fast. It smashed into the men attacking Jaye and ricocheted from Viper to Viper with crippling accuracy. All around her, Cobra troopers fell faster than anyone could realize what was happening. Unscathed, Jaye gapped as the weapon bounced off one last Viper and arced high into the air, hovering for just a split second.

Long enough for Jaye and Hawk to recognize the single white star glowing at the center of the concave shield.

Long enough for a plunging body to snatch it out of the sky.

The war-disc flew from the man's hand with a vengeance, sweeping aside the first layer of Vipers over Hawk like so much dust. If he had been paying attention, Hawk would have been able to scramble free. 

But his eyes were fastened on the man that hit the roof in a cloud of dust.

A huge Greenshirt slowly rose from his landing crouch, his face inscrutable behind the visor of the standard issue helmet he wore. His open top flapped in the wind, revealing patterned chainmail underneath, the stripes blackened by night and silvered by moonlight. 

A single white star shone bright against his chest. 

He raised a hand sheathed in night-darkened leather high into the air. And like an eagle trained to the glove, the brightly gleaming shield returned to Captain America's hand.

An awed light glowed in Hawk's eyes.

The Living Legend lowered his shield to his side, turned his face to the younger man, and spoke. "What in Sam's Hill are you waiting for, kid? MOVE IT!"

A savage grin spread over Hawk's face. "SIR, YES, SIR," Hawk barked, decking a Viper right in the throat.

They were going to make it.

THEY WERE GOING TO MAKE IT!

.

*************************************************

.

Destro slammed his fists against the map table, causing the holographic image of the castle to momentarily flicker. "WHO has just joined the battle?!"

The unfortunate Tele-Viper swallowed hard. "T-they're saying Captain America, sir."

The Scottish laird could feel the sweat bead under his mask. "Are there any signs of his cursed Avengers," he asked calmly.

"No, sir, but..." The Tele-Viper cocked his head. "Sir, we're getting reports that a lone SHIELD Agent is...hijacking the Fang on the Chapel Tower." He frowned as details were hysterically shouted to him over his comm. "An older man in a duster coat, standard jumper, heavily armed and...sir, they're saying he's wearing an eyepatch."

"Fury," Destro growled. He ran his hand over his metal face.

"Sir," the Tele-Viper said weakly. "The SHIELD Agent has just successfully stolen the Viper and is firing on the remaining anti-aircraft guns."

"They're going to take him," Destro realized out loud. He closed his eyes. "Anastasia," he whispered, feeling the stark cold of fear pierce his heart. In his mind he again saw the bright steel blade resting against her elegant throat.

He was going to lose her. Forever.

"No, _annsachd,"_ he murmured, clenching his fist. "No! I will NOT let that madman take you from me!" He spun, jabbing a finger at the one of the Tele-Vipers. "Send every available Viper out. Infantry, mortar crews, ANYTHING! Delay them!"

"Yes, sir."

"And I want the Lattimer device activated!"

All heads snapped around. "But, sir," one of the men said protested, "it's never been approved out of the experimental---"

Destro cut him off. "You WILL activate that machine before the Tomahawk leaves that roof ! If you do not..." The laird raked the room with desperate, dangerous eyes. "...you will regret it. On my honor, you will ALL regret it."

Motion returned to the Control Room with renewed vigor. "Lattimer's power warming up, sir. Mortar crews are on their way."

.

***************************************************************

.

Captain America's shield arced through the air and cut a swath right through the Keep Tower's anti-aircraft guns, one right after the other. They both exploded, sending the shield soaring straight into the air, spinning like a flaming wheel. 

"Be right back, kid," Steve shouted. He kicked a Viper hard in the stomach and planted a foot on the man's lowering head, using it as a spring board. He leapt, gaining unbelievable altitude, stretching his body out until it almost looked as if he could fly.

At the apex of his jump Steve snatched up the still burning shield as it fell. Twisting in mid-air, he tucked the flaming war-disc under his boots and curled up, centering his mass. He plummeted straight down into a cushioning mass of screaming Vipers, smothering the fire upon impact. He somersaulted from their moaning ranks, vaulted over several more Vipers, and returned to give the belabored General some support. "Sorry I took so long," he shouted over the din, smacking his smoking shield into another Viper. "How're you doing?"

Despite the fact that his right arm felt ready to fall from his shoulder, Hawk was grinning from ear to ear. "I'm great," Hawk shouted back. "More than great!" This was a battle straight out of his childhood dreams. There he was, standing back to back with Captain America, surrounded by hordes of the enemy, armed with nothing but the man's legendary shield, their bare fists, and raw guts.

And they were winning!

Well, OK, so Jaye was letting loose with a rifle she had eagerly pounced...

...and the hovercars were surgically shooting into the crowd of dwindling Vipers...

...AND a certain one-eyed chunk of crow-bait was in a stolen Fang, blowing up the rest of the anti-aircraft guns so that a hovercar could actually get close enough for them to board, giving them the chance to run for the high hills with their tail between their legs...

Hell, none of that could detract from this moment.

"Head out of the clouds, kid," Steve yelled, slamming his shield into a group of Vipers. "Our ride's waiting at the edge of the roof! We're bugging out!"

Hawk shot a quick glance and saw Low Light crouched in the hovercar's open cockpit with a semi-auto rifle, picking off approaching Vipers with speed and typical efficiency. "Yes, sir!" He drove his knee into one last Viper, feeling the other man's jewels pop. "Jaye! On our six! Lay down suppressive fire and move! Move! Move!"

"Right behind you, sir," she yelled. She switched the rifle into full auto mode and began mowing down snakes in earnest. "YO JOE!"

Hawk ran behind Captain America, watching as his hero plowed right into the Vipers trying to run interference. The Avenger rammed them with his shield, tossed them sideways over his shoulder, knocked them out of the way, flung his shield a short distance to bounce off their chins; the man cleared a path to the hovercar without breaking stride once. It was amazing!

They were going to make it!

THEY WERE GOING TO...

Light flickered at the corner of his eye, triggering something in memory that drowned out his inner cheering with shrill alarm.

Hawk turned his eyes to the Warder's Tower and saw that the lightning rod over the frosted glass dome had begun to glow. The four spikes surrounding it crackled with energy, a sight that strangely reminded him of salt winds and carbine, the sails of a tall ship, and of his lost friend George Lattimer---

The realization froze him in his tracks. "Lattimer," he whispered. "LOW LIGHT, GET---"

He never got a chance to finish. Without warning the glass dome became blindingly incandescent. Crackling bolts of energy leapt from the central spike to the surrounding rods. There was a beat of silence.

With a roar rivaling the hurricane seas, the Lattimer device discharged.

The rippling waves of energy tore through the starry sky like a maddened Aurora Borealis. Hawk felt every hair on his body stand on end as the electro-magnetic pulses rushed high above him, cascading over the outer castle walls like a like an umbrella fountain. Those under the umbrella, like Low Light and his hovercar, were fine.

Fury and Duke were not.

The EMP hit the Fang and the second hovercar like a storm breaker, disrupting their engine power and flinging them far off into the night.

Just like that...they were gone.

Steve froze, his blue eyes wide at the swift horror of it all. "Sweet Mother and---"

"Mortar," Jaye screamed.

At that cry, Hawk did what any artillery man would do. 

He hit the deck.

He never saw the first mortar round as Low Light shot it out of the sky. He never saw the second round as it struck Steve's shield, or the explosion that blew the older man right into the hovercar, nearly knocking Low Light into the open air. Shell fragments peppered Hawk, forcing him to keep his head ducked a moment longer, making him miss the sight of Steve lunging and catching the sniper before he fell to his death.

But nothing prevented Hawk from seeing the third shell arc from the courtyard to slam into the hovercar's port engine.

It was like watching the Hindenburg in slow motion. He saw the explosion blossom slowly, bleaching all color from the Captain and Low Light's flesh. He saw the Captain pull the sniper protectively against him and raise his shield.

But more than anything, Hawk FELT the eyes of his hero, his friend, as he and Low Light were engulfed in flame and thunder.

"NO!"

The hovercar was blown through the air, trailing debris, smoke and fire. It struck the parapet head on and tumbled fender over bumper right into the EMP, washing them down the mountain side.

Hawk lunged forward, desperate to do something, anything, but equally determined arms wrapped themselves around his legs.

Lady Jaye.

They went down in a pile of limbs.

"You can't help them," Jaye screamed as Hawk struggled to kick free. "You can't help them! GENERAL!"

The title stopped him cold.

"I'm sorry, Clay," she said gently, her voice deep with grief. 

Hawk curled into a tight ball. His whole body shook as if holding back a heart-rending scream. 

His Warbirds were gone.

.

*******************************************

.

"Confirmed," the Tele-Viper announced to Destro, smiling wide. "The enemy vehicles have been destroyed!"

"Then don't give the General a chance to regroup," Destro snapped. "Go and return the Commander's precious bird to him!" 

.

********************************************************

.

The Vipers began to converge on the grief stricken General.

"Oh, bloody hell,"Jaye spat, firing from her prone position. "Sir, believe me," she said. "I know how you feel. But dammit, Clayton, this is not the place to fall apart!"

At Jaye's rebuke Hawk raised his head, blinking rapidly past his tear-blurred vision. He shook his head, feeling the anger burn in his chest, driving the anguish down. As long as he allowed himself to wallow in his grief, Lady Jaye was in danger. And Hawk owed his last Warbird too much to let her die because of him.

He started to pull himself together. "Jaye," he said thickly, getting to his feet. "Remember how we licked this damned EMP bubble the last time?"

She scrambled to her feet. "A tall ship's not going to help us, Hawk!"

"No, but a low tech glider will."

"What," Jaye demanded incredulously, yanking the spent cartridge out. She jerked her head at the cascading energies overhead. "You can't fly into that with your injuries!"

"Just cover me and MOVE, solider!"

Cursing under her breath, Lady Jaye slammed a fresh ammo box into her rifle and laid down suppressive fire.

Hawk scooped up a discarded rifle and forced his aching shoulder to perform. He ran to the nearest air-worthy glider and shot the tethers anchoring it to the roof top.

"Hurry, sir," Jaye called out. "The bad guys are getting reinforcements!"

The General tossed the rifle aside and braced himself. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he put both hands on the glider. "Jaye, we've got wings! Let's go!"

"I'll get the next ride out," Jaye called back. "Go!"

"Don't be an idiot," Hawk shouted harshly. "Jaye---"

"If I let up for one second, they'll be on you," Jaye snapped. "So with all due respect, get the hell on that glider and go!" She ducked a shot. "They died for you, Hawk! You HAVE to live!"

Gunfire began walking it way towards him. If he didn't move now, none of the gliders would be able to fly. "I'll be back for you," he swore, feeling every word being dragged out of his mouth.

He thought he heard her whisper over the battle sounds. "...I know you will..."

Hawk threw himself into the harness, gripped the hang bar of the glider, and shoved it out of it's shelter as fast as he could run.

"Stop him!"

He ran faster and faster, feeling the wind gather around him. A low wall loomed before him. He jumped---

.

*********************************

.

Destro watched in horror as the Hawk became airborne. "NO," he screamed hoarsely. "Stop him!"

Too late. The glider swept gracefully over the parapet and plunged deep into the cascades of EMP.

Hawk was gone from sight.

"Turn off the Lattimer device," he said desperately. "Send out all available aircrafts---"

"Sir, the only aircrafts we have left are the gliders," the Tele-Viper informed him. "And only a few are airworthy."

Destro collapsed into a chair, feeling as if his very life had drained from him. 

Anastasia was going to be killed.

"Sir? Do you have any further orders?" The once proud laird just looked at the Tele-Viper, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Concerning the other Joe. We, um, still have her cornered, sir."

The spark of life flickered in Destro's eyes. "Yes. The thief. Bring her. The Commander might accept her instead."

.

***************************************

.

The rifle finally clicked empty. The Vipers seemed to have heard and ceased fire, cautiously poking their heads out from cover. Reinforcements edged their way past the door, making their side of the roof more crowded than before. "Old woman," one of them called out to her. "We have been ordered to capture you alive! Surrender now, and you will be treated well!"

Jaye ejected the spent ammo cartridge from her rifle and glanced at the remaining gliders in the hanger. She knew it was death to try and fly one out. They would never let a second glider leave the roof. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to be captured.

"What's your answer, GI Joe?"

She looked up. The EMP cascade had been turned off, revealing the night once more. The stars blazed with heartbreaking brightness against the deep velvet of the mountain sky. She turned her face to the moon, feeling the balming rays of that cold sliver beauty against the overheated skin of her arms and hands.

The sky was empty of all else.

She smiled.

"Fly free, Hawk," she murmured, "and give Dash my love."

Lady Jaye slammed a fresh ammo cartridge into her rifle. "Nuts to you," she spat at the Vipers contemptuously. "YO JOE!" She shot at anything that moved, not caring how much ammo she spent as she ran for the gliders. She probably wouldn't make it, but she refused to let them take her so easily.

"Torch 'em!"

Twin tongues of flamethrowers suddenly leapt out, engulfing both rows of gliders in a hellish blaze. Jaye jumped back cursing, her options now severely limited. 

"Surrender!"

"Never," she shouted, backing up to the broken edge of the Tower. She glanced over and quickly looked away, shaking the vertigo from her head. "You want me, snakes, come and get me!"

A shadow suddenly loomed over her, blocking the rays of the moon. She looked up...and nearly dropped her rifle.

It was the glider.

"JUMP," Hawk barked, putting all the command he could into that one word.

And Jaye, ever the solider, automatically obeyed.

She jumped.

The glider plunged, swooping down on her. With a great cry of pain, Hawk caught her in his arms. The nose of the craft jerked from the sudden extra weight, and they started to plummet. "Grab onto me," Hawk ordered. Jaye quickly dropped her rifle and wrapped her arms around his neck, managing to lock her legs around his waist as well. With all his might, Hawk flung his own legs about, forcing the glider to turn on a wingtip 180degrees back up. Before the glider could stall he threw his weight to the side, tilting the wings so that they caught the wind. He spiraled up around the castle Keep, trying to regain enough lost altitude to make it over the parapets again.

"What the hell are you doing back here," she hollered.

"Nice to see you too," he said dryly. "I told you I'd be back for you!"

"But not without the cavalry!"

"It'd have been too late by then! And I won't lose you! Not you too."

She tightened her hold around his neck and buried her face in his good shoulder.

"Hey, ease up," Hawk chided gently. "I'm too old to be dodging jealous husbands."

She nearly choked on a sob. "Sir...I would be more than happy to see him chase you around Wright-Patterson!"

"Yeah." His eyes softened. "That makes two of us."

.

*************************************

.

Hope blazed in Destro at the sight of the glider.

"Tell the Vipers on the roof to torch his wings," he ordered. "Bring our Icarus back down to Earth!"

.

*************************************************

.

With a dreadful whoosh, a controlled burst from the flamethrowers struck the glider from above. The wings, though flame-retardant, were not able to withstand that kind of heat.

Holes burned through the stiff material.

They began to fall.

"Hold on tight to me," Hawk ordered Jaye. He leaned back, trying to slow their fall into a controlled descent. 

The wind fanned the flames, making the holes grow faster.

"Hawk," Jaye screamed in alarm.

"I know, I know," he yelled back. "Loosen up your hold on me!" He struggled out of the harness, keeping an eye on the ground.

It was coming up awfully fast.

"ROLL," Hawk ordered, shoving Jaye from the glider. Timing it so that he wouldn't land on the tumbling woman, he dropped after her.

He hit the ground going head over heels, the pain in his shoulder striking out at him, making the world turn red in agony.

Mercifully, he blacked out.

...

"Hawk?"

For one brief moment, he couldn't move.

"Hawk!"

He forced his eyes open. Everything was a blur.

"Hawk...can you see me?"

He blinked rapidly, his eyes finally coming into focus.

Jaye's emerald eyes looked back at him, wide and terrified. "Sir...say something!"

"I..." Hawk coughed. "I see...you lost...that stupid mask and wig."

She bit her lip and nodded. "Yes, sir. Yes, I did."

"Too bad...about the glasses." He blinked rapidly again. "Are...you alright?"

Jaye hesitated. "I'm not hurt, sir." 

"Liar," he said, managing to lift a hand to touch the bloody scrape along her cheek. 

She cupped his hand against her face, unmindful of the stinging. "How are you doing?"

He closed his eyes, trying to get a feel of his aching body. "Well...it feels like...I just fell out of the sky."

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and briefly closed her own eyes. "Can you stand, Hawk?"

He opened his eyes and looked past Jaye.

There in the courtyard, they were surrounded by about twenty Vipers, all pointing their rifles at them.

He let his head fall back. "I guess...we've been caught."

"...yes, sir..."

He sighed and held out his good arm to her. "Help me up, Jaye."

She draped his arm over her shoulder and slipped her arm under him. With as much dignity as possible, she first helped Hawk to sit up, waited for him to gather himself, then helped him to his feet.

A deep, Scottish burr spoke up from behind the circle of Vipers. "I see that you both have survived." Destro slowly shouldered his way past the Vipers, regarding them with crossed arms. "Good. The Commander will be very pleased."

Hawk straightened his spine and lifted his chin. Lady Jaye echoed his defiant posture. 

"You have put up a valiant fight," Destro continued, "and believe it or not, I am sorry for your losses, General Tomahawk. As soon as this...unpleasantness has been concluded, I will send out men to find the bodies and send them back to America for a proper burial." He tapped a hand over his heart. "I owe it to Captain America, at the very least, for keeping Scotland free from Nazi invasions."

Hawk's breath hitched slightly, but other than that slip, he managed to keep his emotions under control. "Thank you for that." He nodded his head towards Jaye. "What about her? Will you let her accompany the bodies?"

Destro tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I am not sure. Since we have recaptured you, her status is now in question." He metal sheathed faced flexed in disgust. "The Commander might wish to add her to his...collection---"

"No," Hawk immediately snapped out. "You will not let him do that." 

Destro scowled. "You overestimate my ability to influence the Commander. As much as I respect you and your Joes, there are many things that I value more."

"Like your honor," Hawk asked harshly, his voice dropping low.

"Yes, such as my honor. Though in this instance," he admitted softly, "it is my heart that is at stake."

"Whatever threat the Commander's made against the Baroness will be null and void when you walk through those doors with me," Hawk whispered. "Has he specified that he wanted Jaye?"

"No," Destro said. "Not yet."

"You have me," Hawk pointed. "Ask for her life."

The Intel Op's eyes flashed. "I will not have you begging for my life to this pompous_---"_

"Jaye," Hawk rebuked sharply.

"You expect me to aid this ungrateful wench," Destro asked. "What could possibly entice me to risk the Baroness for her?"

Very deliberately, Hawk swung his head from one side to the other. "There's no deal, Destro. You are going to get Lady Jaye to safety."

"Out of the goodness of my heart, I suppose?"

"No," Hawk countered. "Out of what remains of your honor."

"'Honor,'" Jaye growled from between cletched teeth. "This man has no honor, Hawk. He's a _cac ar oineach---"_

"Lady Jaye," Hawk snapped. 

"'Lady,'" Destro snorted. "That was not the language of a lady---"

Hawk pushed Jaye behind him and took one step forward, invading Destro's personal space. "That's where you're wrong," he hissed, ignoring the sounds of twenty rifles bolting back. "That WAS the language of a Lady. And if you do not see her to safety..." His voice dropped to almost inaudible levels as he shoved a finger into the chest of the Scottish laird. "...then your HOUSE. Has. No. Honor."

For a long moment, Destro didn't move. Finally, slowly, Destro leaned his head forward and spoke so softly that only Hawk could hear him. "That was a rumor." 

Hawk smiled, his voice equally soft. "Rumors have a way of being founded in fact."

Destro scowled. Without warning he swept Hawk aside and grabbed Lady Jaye's jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"Stand down," Hawk ordered her. "It's alright, Jaye. Just stand down."

Trembling against the desire to fight off Destro, Lady Jaye glared at the armsdealer. Defiance made her emerald eyes glitter all the more fiercely, almost glowing against her pale and filthy skin.

Destro gazed into those eyes for a very long time. Slowly, he brought his free hand to the side of his head...and raised the protective lenses covering his eyes.

His fiercely glittering emerald eyes.

Destro shut the lenses with a snap and shot a questioning glare at Hawk.

The General shook his head.

"What," Jaye demanded, her words slightly distorted from Destro's grip. "What is it?"

Destro released her and pointed to a Viper. "I want five of you men to take her to the dungeons. Lock her up and guard her well, BUT," he suddenly thundered. "The first one of you to lay so much as a finger on her will personally answer to me! If she is harmed in ANY WAY...then you ALL become personally answerable to me. Am I clear?"

"YES, SIR!"

The Scottish laird looked into her eyes, so much a mirror of his own. "I will try to return you to America, _ulaidh_. If I cannot, I do promise to buy your parole from the Commander however way I can. Though...discourteous, you have always been an honorable opponent. You will be treated well under my care."

She balled her fists up tight, desperately confused now. _"Chan eil mi a' tuigsinn." _

Destro's stern expression softened. _"Tha mi duilich." _

"Lady Jaye," Hawk said gently, extending his hand. "Come here."

"Why," Destro demanded suspiciously.

"Because," Hawk said, his voice suddenly achingly weary, "I want to say good-bye."

Jaye lifted her chin high into the air, gathering the coolness of her high society breeding around her. Despite her ragged and battered appearance, she gracefully stepped past Destro with gliding steps and, with a practiced twirl of her skirts, stopped to stand before Hawk.

Hawk slipped his good arm around her stiffly squared shoulders and drew her close. "At ease," he murmured into her hair. "Damn Cobra and Destro. This may be the last time we'll ever speak to each other." 

She relaxed into his embrace. "We can still fight," she whispered.

"No," he told her firmly. "The mission has changed for you now. Survive. Escape. Resist. Evade. Get back to America." He closed his eyes tight. "He'll be depending on you. He'll be so confused, so scared. He won't admit it, but he will be. He'll need your strength, Jaye."

She bit her lip, thinking of Flint. "Yes. But---"

He gave her a little shake. "Jaye. Even with Destro's assurances, you're still expendable in the Commander's eyes. Jaye, I NEED you to survive. You have to live. For me. For him." He looked into her eyes. "Please."

Despite his strong front, Jaye could see the fear in him. "But what about you," she whispered, though she knew full well what Cobra was going to do to him, to his mind, his soul.

"I..." Hawk swallowed hard. "'The tree of liberty must be watered periodically with the blood of tyrants and patriots alike.'" 

She did not like the sound of that. "...no..."

Hawk's thumb brushed away the tears streaming down her cheeks. She hadn't even realize she was crying. "Just...promise to remember me, Jaye. Don't let this old solider just fade away."

She leaned her bloody cheek against his wounded shoulder. "I'll remember you, Hawk," she whispered. "I'll remember you."

"It's time," Destro rumbled. "Come, General."

Under her embrace, Hawk trembled.

Once again, she felt the nightmare feel of his spirit hovering just under his skin.

"No," Jaye gasped, clutching Hawk for all that she was worth. She struggled against the Vipers trying to pull them apart. "No, Hawk, stay! Hawk, you promised not to surrender! YOU PROMISED US!"

"This isn't a surrender," he whispered into her ear, holding her just as tight. "It's a retreat. I'm just sorry to leave you with such a heavy burden. I'm so sorry, Jaye." 

Her grip was slipping and so was his. She looked into his tearing eyes as she tried to hold on. "Hawk---"

"I am so grateful to have known you." He brushed his lips over her forehead. "Good bye, Allison. Please forgive me if you can."

"CLAY!"

With one last heave, the two Joes were finally pulled apart.

.

*******************************************************

.

The room was a melodramatic combination of a medieval torturer chamber and a mad scientist's laboratory. The walls were completely devoted to monitors, at the foot of which were bulky control panels, furiously lighting up like a child's electronic play toy. A group of long wooden tables were arranged in a horseshoe U-shape in the middle of the room, scattered with computer disks, paper notes, as were various instruments of medicine and inquisition. 

At the very center of the room was a monstrous rectangular pillar of technology. Clunky and inelegant, the thing gave the impression of not being assembled properly. Even in dormancy, the top crackled with malevolent energy. On all four sides of the thing were chairs fitted with restraints and something that resembled an industrial hairdressing dryer. 

The Brainwave Scanner.

The sight never failed to send shivers up Destro's spine.

"Looks like something out of the Frankenstein movies," Hawk observed mildly from between the Vipers pressing against him on all four sides.

"Droll, but apt." Destro waved a hand, indicating the entire building. "This fort is remote, isolated. As such, the Commander secured it from the local government for Mindbender. One of his experimental facilities focused on improving past inventions, such as the Brainwave Scanner."

"Or the EMP modulator," Hawk asked.

Destro dipped his head. "Exactly." He cocked a head at Hawk. "We've renamed it. The machine is now called the Lattimer device, after the man who first field tested it on his decommissioned battleship."

Hawk lunged. His captors barely held him back. "Bragging now, Destro?"

"Not bragging, Hawk." The masked man looked away. "I just thought you should know. Admiral Lattimer was, after all, your friend." 

Hawk bowed his head. 

"We will leave in a few hours, after we have found your men and allies," Destro told him. "When we do, we will level these structures and leave nothing for SHIELD or GI Joe to find. They will gain no benefit from this aborted rescue attempt."

Hawk glared at Destro. "And what make you think that Cobra will benefit from all this," he asked. "The only thing you'll get from me is my name, rank, serial number, and maybe my birthday. " 

"I suppose you think your will is too strong for the Brainwave Scanner?" Destro shook his head. "Everyone breaks under it, General." He scowled. "Everyone."

"Maybe," Hawk said. "But you won't benefit from trying to break me."

Before Destro could respond, the door to the mad room opened. The Crimson Twins, both sporting slings, shoved a limping Mindbender into the room. They were shortly followed by Stormshadow pulling a gurney holding a Cobra Commander, his face swathed in bandages and breathing heavily into an oxygen mask.

But Destro had eyes only for the woman behind the gurney.

Coolly, as if she had never been in danger, the Baroness Anastasia DeCobray placed her hand on her consort's outstretched arm. "Darling," she acknowledged him calmly.

__

"Annsachd," he murmured, slipping a hand over hers.

"Where is he, Destro," the Commander rasped, his voice slightly slurred from strong painkillers. "Has he been restrained yet?"

Destro lifted his finger and the four Vipers escorted the heavily shackled Hawk forward.

Cobra Commander started violently. "Put him in the machine, you fools! Quickly!"

Hawk grinned toothily as he was roughly herded towards the Brainwave Scanner. He stretched out his neck and snapped his teeth at the Commander, causing the bedridden man to jump in his gurney. 

"Into the machine," the Commander shrilled.

The Vipers struggled to stuff the fighting Hawk into a restraining chair.

"Where are the Drednoks," Destro whispered to the Baroness.

"The Commander has deemed them unworthy of witnessing this momentous occasion," she murmured back. "Glorious. This will be a crushing blow to GI Joe."

Destro frowned as the first restraint snapped over Hawk's wrist. "I see nothing glorious about this."

"Darling---"

"No, Anastasia. The Tomahawk has been a valiant solider true to his cause, a decent and honorable man. Such a creature is beyond price. And now, we are to witness the stripping of his mind and very soul." His scowl deepened as a Viper punched Hawk in his wounded shoulder. "No, Anastasia. There is nothing glorious about any of this." 

The Commander cackled, gesturing for Stormshadow to adjust the gurney, allowing him to sit up. "So, General Tomahawk," the Commander spat, drawing out his name like a bad joke. "Do you have anything else to say, before I make you truly mine?"

Panting heavily from the exhaustion, pain, but more, fear, Hawk still managed to harshly bark out, "Abernathy, Clayton M! Lieutenant General! RA2-127-5406!" Hawk looked at the Commander with a final raptorial glare. "And thanks for dinner."

The Commander shrieked with rage. "Insolence! Take him, Mindbender!"

The Doctor limped to Hawk's side and bowed to the Commander. "It will be a pleasure." He lowered the headpiece onto Hawk and, despite the man's struggling, fitted it tight.

"Begin at your leisure, doctor," the Commander lazily ordered, leaning forward with anticipation. "I want to see my bird squirm."

Hawk closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. "Abernathy," he repeated. "Clayton M. Lieutenant...General! RA...2-127...-5406." He swallowed hard, realizing that his mouth had suddenly gone dry. This wasn't working. It was imperative that he calmed down. He couldn't let his terror overwhelm him or he'd...

Oh, God...

Almost without thinking, the prayer that had guided his entire adult life came tumbling to his lips. "'O God, our Father, Thou Searcher of human hearts,'" he recited. "'Help us to draw near to Thee in sincerity and truth.'" 

"Mindbender," the perplexed Cobra Commander asked. "What is he doing?"

"Praying?" Mindbender chuckled. "How primitive. Should I gag him?"

"No," the Commander said. "This is rather amusing."

Destro could feel his teeth grind in anger.

"'May our religion be filled with gladness and may our worship of Thee be natural,'" Hawk continued. "'Strengthen and increase our admiration for honest dealing and clean thinking, and suffer not our hatred of hypocrisy and pretence ever to diminish. Encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life."

"Are you recording this, Mindbender," the Commander laughed.

"Yes, Commander."

"Remember to send the Joes a copy." 

"Of course, Commander."

Hawk just went on, his voice growing stronger with each sentence, his heart calming with a kind of defiant peace. He looked at each person in the room as he spoke his next words, his eyes lingering on Destro and the Commander the longest. "'Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half truth when the whole truth can be won. Endow us with courage that is born of loyalty to all that is noble and worthy, that scorns to compromise with vice and injustice and knows no fear when truth and right are in jeopardy.'" He glared at the Commander. "'Guard us against flippancy and irreverence in the sacred things of life.'"

The Commander clutched at the white sheet covering his legs. "I think," he rasped in an unamused voice, "that I have heard enough."

Tomax and Xamot nodded. "As have---"

"---we all."

"Do it," the Commander ordered. "Now."

Hawk rushed to the end of the prayer. "'Soften our hearts with sympathy for those who sorrow and suffer,'" he shouted. "'Help us to maintain the honor of the Corps untarnished and unsullied---'"

Mindbender threw the switch.

.

********************************************************

.

Down below in the dungeons, a Jay Bird fell to her knees, shivering uncontrollably.

Miles away, an Owl flexed his fingers in nightmare sleep. "...Hawk..."

.

***************************************************************

.

Hawk screamed in pain as the volts of the Brainwave Scanner shot through his skull, bowing his back and splaying his fingers wide open. His wounded shoulder smoked, his eyes bulged grotesquely.

Destro turned away, closing his eyes. "You have maintained," he murmured. "You have maintained."

"Where are the images of his mind," the Commander demanded of Mindbender, searching the huge wall of monitors. "Where are they?"

Destro curled his lip. "Commander, we are on a tight schedule," he reminded the man. "If you must view the contents of Hawk's mind, record it and view them later."

"Silence," the Commander shouted. "I've paid a heavy sum to view this movie and I will not leave until I am satisfied! Mindbender!"

"It is simply taking the images a second to appear," Mindbender hastily assured him, fiddling with the control panel. "Ah! There!"

Flickering onto the wall of monitors as a single picture was a gray wall of thick fog. It enveloped the world in a cool gray shroud that defused the light of sun and moon, creating an ambiance that some would call gloomy, but to the subjective view of Hawk's mind, it was as comforting as a lambswool blanket. The deep ringing of church bells tolled in the distance.

"This is boring," the Commander complained childishly. "I want to see something else, the confidential knowledge entrusted to the Tomahawk; ways into the hidden Presidential bunker, the dirty laundry of all the American Senators, classified defense information like satellite access codes or the secrets of Cheyenne Mountain!" He banged a fist against the mattress. "Give me something good!"

"Of course, Commander." Mindbender twisted the controls, causing Hawk's whole body to spasm.

But the picture on the wall remained the same.

Mindbender frowned. "There's something wrong..."

Slowly but surely, lights started to materialize from the fog.

"What is that," the Baroness asked.

As if on cue a blocky, gothic fortress-like building made of hard granite loomed into view, its windows glowing with the distinctive colored arch of a church being lit by hundreds of candles from the inside. The sanctuary window, the largest of the rainbow bright glass panels, was proudly marked with the words 'Duty. Honor. Country.'

"Mindbender," the Commander snapped impatiently, "change the scene!"

The Doctor hastened to obey.

Hawk buckled under the strain, again screaming his throat raw, but the image on the screen only zoomed in onto an ornately casted arched door, the front entrance of the chapel. Suddenly, it was thrown open, the light streaming around the silhouette of a young man wearing a Green Beret.

"F-Falcon," Hawk gasped through the pain.

The unmarred image of Captain Vincent Falcone smiled and waved. "Hiya, Hawk! Nice to see you. Sort of. Well, it'll be great to be finally relieved." The younger man made a face. "Why me, sir? You know how much I hate guard duty. Y'know, QuickKick or Breaker wouldn't have minded---" He cut himself off, reacting as if he actually saw the people in the room. "But there'll be enough time for that later. Better get in here before the fang gang coughs a clue."

"Mindbender," the Commander shrieked. "Turn it off! STOP THE SCANNER! NOW!"

"Too late." The image of Falcon grinned broadly and he held out his hand. "C'mon home, sir. The rest of us are waiting."

Hawk screamed again. The screens glowed blindingly bright as the image surged forth, entering the white light of the West Point Cadet Chapel in Hawk's mind. Echoes of "Welcome home," rang throughout the speakers.

The Commander nearly leapt from his gurney. "MINDBENDER!"

With the finality of a slamming door, the screens blanked out...

...the screaming stopped...

...and the man who had been the Tomahawk faded away.


End file.
